


Veni. Natavi. Vici.

by FairyPrincessKjar



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fanfiction, Swimming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyPrincessKjar/pseuds/FairyPrincessKjar
Summary: Feyre Archeron wanted nothing more that to leave that cauldron damned town and never look back.  With graduation looming in the near future, she was desperate find a way to attend Prythian University.  Even now with her older sisters out of the house, Feyre and her father barely had enough money to pay rent, let alone be able to pay for any type of tuition.  Her only option, as she saw it, was to swim her way to a full ride scholarship.  The only thing standing in her way of achieving that goal was the Developmental Reading class she was currently failing.  When the cocky captain of the boys diving team, Rhysand, offers to help tutor her, she reluctantly accepts and ends up getting more than she bargained for.





	1. The Color Green

“Ugh. Have you seen the practice board today? I swear to the Cauldron, Coach Tarquin is trying to kill us!” Mor groaned as she stalked over to their usual corner of the locker room and unceremoniously dropped her bright pink bag down on the bench.  Feyre had already changed into her suit and was searching for her cap.  On the days that practice was after school, she somehow always managed to get to the smelly, damp locker room before her friend, even though Mor’s last class was just down the hall from the pool.  On the days that they had morning practice, however, Feyre was lucky to stumble through the door during warm ups, let alone on time.            

Feyre rolled her eyes as she pulled out her cap and tossed it on the bench.  She began rummaging through her ragged, decrepit bag looking for her goggles and smirked, “You say that every day, Morrigan.”

“Well, it’s true,” Mor said as she began emptying her bag.

Feyre raised a brow and sniffed, “It can’t be any worse than that one practice where we had to tread water for over an hour.”

Mor laughed and pulled a practice suit out of her bag, saying, “So true. That was a bitch.”   

Feyre tried, and failed, not to stare jealously at the brand new suit her friend pulled on.  “Is that new?” she asked, attempting to keep the envy in her voice at bay.  She absentmindedly fingered the strap of her own TYR, which had faded to a hideous puke green color and was beginning to fray in areas.

“Yeah. You like?” Mor asked as she spun in a circle, giving Feyre a view of the back.  

“Holy shit! Of course you got the open backed one I was drooling over last week! Ugh. It’s gorgeous,” she groaned.

Mor smirked at her, “I believe that I was the one who showed you the that website, Fey.  I fell in love with it first.”

“But did you have to get pink?  I mean, come on.  You know I can’t stand pink suits.  Now I can’t steal it from you!” Feyre grumbled.  Her friend just laughed as she began putting her long, blonde hair into a ponytail.  Feyre stuck her tongue out, which only made Mor laugh harder.    

Feyre hated that she was jealous of her best friend and how she never had to worry about money.  Not that Mor’s life was perfect, by any means.  Hell, her friend had gone through some serious shit in her life, too.  Feyre sighed, feeling a combination of both relief and irritation as she finally managed to locate her goggles and pulled them out of her bag  She knew she shouldn’t be jealous, but she was.  Speedos, like the one Mor now had on, cost close to a hundred dollars, sometimes even more.  As much as she would like a new suit, she didn’t even come close to having that kind of money.  Unfortunately, she was going to have to replace her practice suit soon.  The material was becoming precariously thin in areas, especially in the backside.  The last thing she needed was to show up to practice in a see through suit.  And Cauldron save her if the boys team happened to be around at the time.  Most of the other girls on the team, like Mor, had multiple suits they used for practices so their suits didn’t wear out that quickly.  Feyre only had the one.           

“You ready, Fey?” Mor asked as she crammed her bag into a locker and slammed it shut.

“Yup,” she replied grumpily, grabbing her cap off the bench.  Feyre followed Mor out of the locker room, still somewhat nursing her bitter feelings about the state of her family's financial situation.  She walked to the edge of the pool and sat down, not even bothering to put her golden-brown hair in a ponytail before sliding into the water.  She reveled in the sensation of being completely submerged, staying underwater as long as she possibly could.  She had always loved the feeling of being in the water.  Her mother had used to joke that she was part fish.  

When Feyre could not hold her breath any longer, she rose to the surface.  Mor was directly in front of her, bending down to dunk her cap in the pool.  Feyre just couldn’t resist.  She grinned deviously and splashed Mor right in the face, saying, “Just get in, dork.”

Mor squawked indignantly and hollered, “I can not believe you just did that!”  Feyre tried splashing her again but Mor was able to get out of the way just in time.  Before long, both girls were giggling loudly as they tried to splash each other, though they mostly just succeeded in soaking the deck around them.  

“Archeron.  Cailleach.  You know the rules about horseplay on the pool deck.”  The deafening roar of their coach had both girls freezing on the spot.  Mor swore under her breath.  Coach Tarquin was an amazing coach, but you did not want to get on his bad side.  Unless you wanted to spend a whole week doing pull float drills, that is.  

“Sorry Coach,” they both mumbled.

He gave them a reproachful look and said, “Since you have so much free time to goof off, why don’t the two of you make yourselves useful and get the lane lines out?”           

Stifling a groan, Feyre managed to mutter, “Yes, sir.”  

As soon as their coach was out of earshot, Feyre looked at Mor and apologized, “Sorry girl.  I know you’re still on Coach’s hit list.  I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

Mor waved her hand dismissively, “Don’t sweat it, Fey.  I’m resigned to the fact that I’ll be on his shit list the rest of the year.”  

“You never did tell me why you skipped practice last week,” Feyre prodded.  It was unusual for Mor to keep anything from her.  It was even more unusual for her to skip practice.  She couldn’t help but be concerned about her friend.           

She rolled her eyes and said evasively, “Nice try, Fey.”  Mor gave her a smirk before continuing, “Since you’re already in the pool, I’ll just stay on the deck and hand them all to you.”  

Feyre narrowed her eyes and snapped, “Mor, get your ass in the pool before I pull you in.”  Mor  rolled her eyes handed the first of the lane lines to Feyre, who began tugging it across the pool.  Honestly, they had been lucky if putting out the lane lines was their only punishment.  They usually helped with them everyday, regardless.  She heard a splash and soon Mor was trailing behind her, dragging her own line down the length of the pool.  They were soon joined in the water by Alis and Clare and, as expected, the task didn’t take long.     

Feyre swam lazily to the edge of the pool where she had left her cap and goggles.  Using the band that had been around her wrist, she hastily put her hair in a ponytail and shoved her cap on.  By this time, most of the team had arrived and were jumping into their designated lanes.  Feyre’s was the farthest to the left, reserved for the fastest swimmers on the team.  She shared the lane with Alis, Ianthe, and Mor.  She got along well with Alis and Mor, obviously. But she couldn’t stand Ianthe, who seemed to love nothing more than to make Feyre’s life hell.  She was sure it had something to do with her ex, Tamlin.  Ianthe seemed obsessed with the asshole.  She was welcome to have him, as far as Feyre was concerned.

“Move your ass, Archeron.”    

Feyre’s head whipped around and glared at the blonde standing near her.  She said in a clipped tone, “You could just ask politely, Ianthe. No need to be rude.”

“Whatever. Just move so I can get in the damn pool.”

It took all of her self- control to remain silent.  Feyre snatched her goggles off the deck and pushed off the side of the with both feet, wanting to put as much space between her and that bitch as possible.

*******

After practice had finally come to and end, Feyre rushed back to the locker room to shower and change.  She only had 45 minutes until her shift at the coffee shop began.  Her boss had threatened to fire her if she were late again.  Unfortunately, she needed the the job and couldn’t risk losing it.  There weren’t that many places to work in their Cauldron forsaken town, let alone ones that would hire teenagers.    

After getting ready in record time, Feyre grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder.  “See you tomorrow,” she shouted in Mor’s direction.

“Hey, wait.” Mor called after her, causing Feyre to pause. “Are going to the party tomorrow night?”

Feyre ground out, “I already told you that I can’t go.  I have to close the shop tomorrow night. And then I told Nuala I’d take over her shift Saturday morning.  I can’t call in. I need the hours.”

Mor gave her the biggest, poutiest faces that Feyre had ever seen and pleaded, “Come on, Fey.  Just for an hour?  Please?”  

Feyre pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.  “I’ll think about it.  I’ll text you tonight when I get home. But, I have to go now or I’m going to be late.”  

Mor pranced up and enveloped her in a giant hug saying, “It’ll be fun!  We haven’t hung out in forever.  Don’t forget to text me, okay?”

Feyre stepped out of her embrace and gave her a quick wave before racing out the door.       

*******

Feyre stood in the near empty coffee shop and glanced around.  There were two customers sitting at a table in the back.  On slow nights, she could usually get away with pulling out her homework and attempt to make a dent in the amount of work she was given.  Tonight she was working with Cerridwen, who was leaning against the other end of the counter and texting on her phone.  She knew that Cerridwen, unlike a few others, wouldn’t rat her out to their boss, Mr. Vanserra.  She would have told him to go to hell a long time ago if it wasn’t for the fact that she needed this job so desperately.  She pulled out her math textbook and propped it up on the counter behind the register.  She kept an eye on the customers as she worked her way through equation after equation.  As the door chimed and opened,  she hastily shoved her book into her bag.  She straightened up and placed a smile on her face, ready to greet the customer, only to be meet with a pair of piercingly violet eyes. Eyes which happened to be staring at her, full of mischief.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave feedback and constructive criticism! Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> FairyPrincessKjar
> 
> Find me on Tumblr as illyrianbeauty


	2. A Bone to Pick

Feyre stood rooted on the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the familiar, piercing pair in front of her.  She found herself becoming completely and utterly lost in their depths.  Her fingers twitched, itching to pick up a paintbrush so that she could attempt capture the exact shade of his impossibly violet orbs.  Painting was something in which she had not been able to indulge in for quite a long time, though.  Between school, practice, and her job, Feyre had very little time for anything else lately.  No matter how much she enjoyed painting, it wasn’t a priority.  She would be able to paint to her heart's content after she graduated from college, she reminded herself.    

“Hello, Feyre Darling,” Rhys purred.

Hearing his pet name for her snapped Feyre out of whatever trance she had been in.  She scowled deeply and hissed, “I thought I told you not to call me that, Rhysand.”

“Well, you’re in a lovely mood this evening, Feyre Darling,” he smirked.  He knew he was getting under her skin, and loved every minute of it.  Feyre sighed in exasperation. Cauldron give her the strength to deal with him tonight.      

Rhys had been a thorn in her side ever since his family, including his cousin Mor, had moved to town.  Upon their arrival during the sixth grade, Feyre and Mor had instantly become best friends.  As Mor’s cousin, Rhys thought that this meant Feyre was supposed to become his best friend by default.  She had been trying for years, rather unsuccessfully, to convince him otherwise.      

She narrowed her eyes at him and snapped, “What do you want?”

“I have to say, your customer service skills are quite atrocious, Darling.”

In the most saccharine voice she could manage, she simpered, “Good evening.  How may I assist you?”  Feyre then rolled her eyes and flipped him off, muttering, “Prick.” under her breath.

Rhys tipped his head back and laughed.  Soon, Feyre found herself giggling right along with him.  When she was finally able to compose herself, she asked, “For real though Rhys, what do you want?”

He stroked his chin, considering for a moment and purred, “How about a date with you, Darling?”     

Though he had probably asked her out on a thousand dates over the years, she still felt heat creeping along her neck and cheeks at his latest attempt.    

As much as Feyre tried to deny it, Rhys was incredibly good looking.  She couldn’t help but think back to the last time their practices had overlapped, which didn’t happen often.  He was the star of the men’s diving team and often arrived early to get in some extra practice, one of the many reasons he was so good, Feyre assumed.  During one such instance, Feyre had only managed to catch the briefest of glimpses of his perfect physique while clad in his speedo, before Mor had pulled her away and into the locker room.  Feyre’s eyes trailed down his chest.  He was wearing a black shirt, as usual, which fit snug enough so that it emphasized the muscles in his arms and torso.  The tiniest bit of his tattoo was peaking out above his collar.       

“See something you like, Darling?”     

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, and narrowed.  Rhys was grinning fiendishly at her with a gleam in his eyes.  She cursed herself for being stupid enough to get caught staring at him.  

Trying to cover up her lack of self- control, she sneered, “No, actually.”  The bright red blush of her cheeks did little to convince him, though.  

“Liar.”

“Are you actually going to order a drink, or did you only come here to annoy me?”  

“I came here for a coffee, actually.  Seeing you was just an added bonus.” Feyre wished she could wipe that smug look off his face.  Yes, he was cute, but he knew it.  That was the problem.  She rolled her eyes and quickly poured his drink.  

She offered the cup to him, snapping, “Here. Now pay up and get out.”

As though he hadn't heard a word she just said, nor the tone of voice she used, Rhys leaned up against the counter and asked, “So, are you planning on going to the party tomorrow night with Mor?”

“Nope. I have to work.” Though he recovered quickly, Feyre could have sworn a look of disappointment flashed across his face.  

“Shame. Someone needs to be there to make sure Mor doesn’t make an ass of herself again.”

“Are you going?” she asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

Rhys looked her up and down with a sly grin. “Probably not.  It seems as though there will be no one of interest in attendance.”  And Cauldron damn her to hell, her stomach did the slightest of flips as he brazenly checked her out.   

*******

Feyre trudged down the hall towards her last class of the day.  The closer she got to the classroom, however, the slower her footsteps became.  She really and truly wanted to ditch Developmental Reading today.  She just wasn’t in the mood for the intense feelings of stupidity and insecurity that she inevitably experienced while trapped in that Cauldron damned class.  She probably would have skipped too, had it not been for the fact that she would just have to come back to the school later for practice anyways.  That, and she needed to maintain a certain GPA or she would be kicked off of her swim team.  She was already in danger of failing the class as it was.  Feyre knew that she shouldn’t skip, but that didn’t stop her from gazing longingly down the hallway towards the parking lot.  Towards freedom.  She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned in frustration.  She couldn’t wait for the day when she could just take off- leave this hellish town and never look back.   

“You can handle it, Fey,” she whispered to herself.  She lingered outside the doorway, mentally preparing herself for what awaited her inside the classroom.  The reasons why she needed to attend the hated class ran through her mind over and over.  Grades, team eligibility, a scholarship, a way out.  She sighed deeply, straightened her spine, and walked through the door into her own personal hell.

Feyre shuffled over to her normal seat in the back of the classroom just as the bell began to ring.  At least she was on time today, she thought.  Feyre watched as her teacher skipped up to the front of the room, smiling broadly.  She might have actually liked Ms. Carver, had she taught a different class, that is.  She hated the overly cheerful woman simply for the fact that she taught reading.  And there was nothing in the world that Feyre hated more than reading.  

Her struggles had arisen way back in elementary school when she had failed over and over to learn to read, unlike her classmates.  As a child, Feyre had never understood why reading had come so easily to everyone else around her, but continued to evade her.  Her parents were mortified when her second grade teacher had suggested that she be tested for learning disabilities.  They had flat out refused, insisting that no child of theirs could possibly be anything less than perfect.  Besides, what would their friends at the county club think?  It wasn’t until the fifth grade when Feyre had been diagnosed with dyslexia, that she had slowly, painfully learned how to read.  However, nothing had been able to change her attitude about it over the years.  She still had flashbacks of that time in the fourth grade when she had been forced to stand in front of the class and had attempted to read Because of Winn- Dixie aloud.  Obviously, it had not gone well.  She had ended up running out of the classroom in tears, the laughter of her classmates chasing her down the hallway.  After that, Feyre hadn’t really had any friends in school.  Well, until Mor moved to town, that is.          

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen.  Time to settle down and get started,” Ms. Carver directed.  Feyre slumped down in the chair as far as she could as her teacher continued in her sing- song voice, “I am pleased to announce that today we will be having SSR and reading conferences.”  Feyre realized Ms. Carver was looking directly at her as she said this.  Shit.  She looked looked away as quickly as she could.  The rules of going unnoticed in this class were simple- avoid eye contact and remain silent at all cost.      

She couldn’t help the groan that escaped her, though.  Of course they would have SSR today.  Shit.  She really should have just skipped the damned class after all.  Back on the first day of the semester, Ms. Carver had explained that they would periodically have class periods dedicated solely to independent reading, or Sacrosanct Silent Reading as she called it.  Ugh, it was the most absurd thing Feyre had ever been forced to endure.  The class had been given a list of approved books from which they were expected to read at least four throughout the semester.  Once they  finished a book, they were supposed to have a conference with Ms. Carver so she could check that they read it and understood it, or some shit like that.  Feyre had thought it was grossly unfair of the teacher to make them all have conferences.  Couldn’t Ms. Carver just trust that they had read all of the books?  Admittedly, Feyre had read a total of zero books and had had zero conferences with her at this point.  

“So, pull out those books and get ready to immerse yourself in a whole different world full of imagination and adventure!”  

It was times like this when Feyre wished Mor were in the class as well.  She could just imagine the look on Mor’s face.  Where did her teacher come up with crap like that, anyways?  She heard rustling of pages as those around her pulled out their books and began reading.  

Before she had a chance to open up her own book, Ms. Carver tapped her on the shoulder and said, “I’d like to have a conference with you now, Ms. Archeron.  Meet me at the back table, if you please.”

“But I haven’t signed up for a conference, Ms. Carver.  It’s not my turn,” she said, panic lacing her every word.

“Therein lies the problem, Ms. Archeron.”  With that, Ms. Carver walked away, giving Feyre little choice but to follow.  Fucked.  She was utterly and completely fucked.

Feyre shuffled along behind her teacher as though she were a lamb being led to slaughter, which was precisely how she was feeling at the moment. She avoided making eye contact with the woman as they sat down at the table.     

“Ms. Archeron, we are nearly halfway through the semester and you have yet to have a single conference with me.  You are, in fact, the only student in the class who hasn’t finished at least one at this point.  Have you even started reading any of the books from the assigned list?”

“No,” she said weakly, eyes remaining fixed on the tabletop.   

“I’m going to be blunt with you, young lady.  This assigned reading project constitutes thirty percent of your final grade.  You simply will not pass this class if you fail to meet this basic requirement.”

Feyre looked up at her, horror stricken.  She would never be able to get into a decent college if she failed this course!

“Ms. Carver! I have to pass this class!” she pleaded.  “Otherwise I won’t be able to get a swimming scholarship.”   

“Then Ms. Archeron, you had better start putting in some real effort.”  

Feyre’s checks burned in shame at the harsh words.  She wanted to say something in her defense, but she was on the verge of tears.  Talking had become impossible, so she simply nodded her head in agreement.  

“There is still time for you to complete the requirements of this class if you are willing to put in the time and work hard.”  Ms. Carver smiled kindly at her, “I know you have it it you, Feyre. Now, head on back to your seat and get started.”   

Shit. Shit. Shit.

 *******  

That afternoon, Mor cornered Feyre in the locker room as soon as practice had ended.  

“Please come to the party tonight, Fey! You don’t have to stay that long. Just for an hour or two.  Please?” she begged.

Maybe it was because of her conversation with Ms. Carver earlier that day.  Maybe it was the way Ianthe had blocked her repeated attempts to pass her in the pool during practice, purposely kicking Feyre in the face more than once in the process.  Or maybe it was because of how sick and tired she was of being financially responsible for her family.  Whatever the reason, Feyre found herself agreeing to meet Mor at the party after her shift at the cafe was over.  She just hoped it wasn’t a decision she would end up regretting.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please leave me comments and feedback! I love hearing your thoughts. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr as illyrianbeauty


	3. It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

Feyre sat in her old, decrepit car and gazed forlornly at the enormous house across the street.  She had been able to hear the music, even with the car windows completely rolled up, well before the house had come into view.  It was the same shitty music that she had endured at each and every party Mor had seen fit to drag her to this year.  She never understood how her classmates got away with throwing party after party, never once getting busted by the police.  A few people that she had seen around school, but couldn’t quite seem to remember their names, were hanging out in the front yard.  Feyre couldn’t help rolling her eyes as one of the girls, who was wearing precariously high heeled boots, tripped and fell with a solo cup in her hand, effectively drenching the front of her barely there shirt.  Not that she was antisocial by any means, but Feyre had never enjoyed going to these parties- too many drunk people doing stupid things for her to feel comfortable.  Feyre attributed it to her shortened childhood, a result of single handedly taking care of her family these past few years, but the whole scene seemed like a huge waste of time to her.  She normally only went to appease her friends, or when Mor’s begging and pleading reached a level of epic proportions.  When Mor came at her with her big brown puppy dog eyes, Feyre just couldn’t say no.  Mor knew Feyre couldn’t resist.  It was fact which she had used to her advantage on numerous occasions since they had become friends, much to Feyre’s dismay.  

“Ugh, why did I agree to this?” she muttered to herself.  She was sorely tempted to turn the car back on and drive away before anyone had the chance to spot her.  Mor, probably knowing that she was liable to ditch the party rather than attend as promised, decided to call at that very inopportune moment.  

Feyre stifled a groan as she answered the phone, “Hey Mor.  What’s up?”

“Feyre! Where are you? You’re missing a great party!” Mor was shouting into the phone, most likely in an attempt to be heard over the pounding music.  She was already several drinks in, given the way that she was slurring her words.  Shit. Now Feyre had no choice but to go inside and make sure that her friend was going to be alright, and to make sure that she had a ride home.  Ten minutes.  That’s how long she’d stay.  Ten minutes and not a second more, she decided.       

She laid her head against the steering wheel and reluctantly admitted, “I just got here.  Where are you?” 

Mor’s squealed loudly, causing Feyre to grimace and pull the phone away from her ear for a brief instant.     

“AHHH! I knew you’d come! That’s why I fucking love you!” Mor shrieked.  The corners of Feyre’s mouth to twitch up slightly at that.  “I’m in the kitchen.  Hurry your ass up!” and with that, her inebriated friend hung up on her.   

Feyre, whose head was still resting on the steering wheel, sighed deeply.  Might as well get this over with, she decided.  After stowing her purse under her the driver’s seat, she grabbed her keys and slowly climbed out of the car.  She staggered slightly, catching herself just in time to avoid falling head first onto the pavement.  She swore under her breath.  Cauldron, no wonder she hardly ever drank. She had enough difficulty with her coordination as it was.  The only time, it seemed, that she didn’t feel like an absolute klutz was when she was in the pool.  With another groan, she shuffled across the road towards the party.

Feyre pushed her way through the throng of people while searching desperately for Mor.  She was going to kill her friend.  As soon as she found her, that is.  Feyre had almost given up hope when she finally spotted Mor’s golden- blonde tresses across the room on the dance floor.  Feyre made her way over to where Mor was gyrating to the loud music.  She was clad in a bright red, thigh high dress that left little to the imagination.  Feyre was a little envious of the confidence her friend always seemed to exude.  Feyre fingered the hem of her tank top.  With the jacket on, no one was able to see the stain on the back, a souvenir from when Elaine had attempted to do the laundry years ago.  Feyre and Nesta hadn’t let their sister touch the laundry since.  Not for the first time that evening, Feyre felt extremely out of place amongst these people.  She watched as Mor lifted her hands in the air and threw her head back.  The joyous look on her face was infectious.  Feyre didn’t have had the nerve to dance alone, preferring the anonymity dancing in a group provided.  But Mor didn’t need anyone- she was a whirlwind of blissful energy all on her own.     

With a swish of her hips, Mor spun around and spotted her.  “FEY!” she squealed, prancing up up and enveloping her in a bone crushing hug.  “You’re here!”

“Mor, I love you too.  But next time, try not to strangle me,” she gasped out.  

“Sorry Fey. I’m just so happy you’re here!” she giggled.  

“I told you I would come,” Feyre grumbled. 

“Come on. Let’s get something to drink.  It’s hot in here and I need to cool down,” she said, fanning herself with a hand.

“Well… I can’t stay long, so I’ll just have a water or something.”

“But… but… you just got here,” Mor stammered, a look that was equal parts exasperation and indignation crossed her face.

“I know. I know, but I do have to work in the morning.  I can’t exactly stay on my boss’s good side if I show up hungover.” she explained. “You know how much he’s been on my ass lately.”

Mor screwed her face into the most hideous, pitiful face Feyre had ever seen her make.  “You promised,” she whispered, voice barely audible above the music.  

Feyre pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath.  “Alright.  Alright.  Alright.  I’ll stay for one drink.”  Mor grinned at her victoriously before subjecting her to another overzealous hug.  “One drink Morrigan.  That’s it. One drink and then I’m leaving,” she ground out, Mor nodding her head vigorously in agreement.

“Come on. The keg is this way,” Mor grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the back door.  

As they passed a boisterous crowd of people playing beer pong, Mor squealed and said, “We are so playing later on.”

Feyre snorted, “Ummm, yeah… I don’t think so.” Mor smiled mischievously at her and winked.  She was probably remembering the last time they had played.  Feyre had lost spectacularly.  While attempting her last shot, she had somehow stumbled and fell down, ending up with a sprained ankle.  Feyre’s cheeks burned at the highly embarrassing memory.     

Feyre let Mor lead her towards the cluster of people surrounding what she assumed was the keg of beer.  As they were waiting in line for their drinks, Mor surprised her by confessing, “I was hoping the person I’m crushing on would be here tonight.  That’s why I wore this dress.” Mor looked down at her attire dejectedly.

“Ummmm… excuse me?  Why haven’t you said anything? Who is it?” Feyre demanded.  

“It’s a secret,” Mor said impishly.    

“Oh, hell no! Spill! I want the details. Now!” Feyre crossed her arms over her chest and gave Mor a look that she hoped conveyed the message that the two of them would not be talking about anything else until Feyre got some answers.   

“Nope. My lips are sealed,” she said evasively.  Well, they would just have to see about that.  Feyre figured that with another drink or two, Mor would be spilling all her secrets.  Maybe could stay for just a bit longer, at least until she got some answers from Mor.  Well, maybe coming to the party tonight hadn’t been that bad of an idea after all.        

It was then that Feyre heard a horrifyingly familiar voice drifting through the back door.  She whirled around in time to see Ianthe walking through the door, arm in arm with Tamlin.  

Shit. Shit. Shit.  She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t face him.  Not now.  Maybe not ever.

Beside her, Mor was practically growling at the sight of Feyre’s former boyfriend.  “What the fuck is he doing here?” Mor hissed.

Feyre felt the as though the world was spinning.  She couldn’t think, couldn’t breath.  She started moving towards the side of the house.  “I… Mor… I… I… I gotta go,” Feyre whimpered, her chest squeezing tightly with the onslaught of panic.  Her stomach lurched as he strolled closer and closer to where they stood.  Not knowing what else to do, but feeling an overwhelming need to escape, she turned and ran.    

Feyre flew across the street as fast as she could, glancing behind her every so often to make sure she wasn’t being followed.  She fumbled to with her keys, wrenching the door open after she was finally able to get it unlocked.  As soon as she was in the car, she slammed the door shut and locked the car.  Safe.  She was safe.  She panted heavily as she repeated the mantra.  No one, not even Mor, knew all of the details regarding her relationship, and subsequent breakup with Tamlin.  And that’s exactly how she wanted it to stay.  If anyone knew…

 She shuddered.  No. It was better that they remained in the dark about certain things.  She hastily wiped away a tear that was making its way down her cheek.  Feyre hated how her hand shook as she turned the key in the ignition.  Nothing.  She tried again.  Not even a sound.  This was not her night.  Not at all.  She let loose a scream of frustration and ripped the keys out of the ignition.  She couldn’t believe it! Her Cauldron damned car was dead!   While her 1989 Dodge Omni hatchback was no beauty, it served its purpose.  It got her to school, to work, and back home again.  How was she going to get to work in the morning?  Tears began falling in earnest at the thought.  She buried her face in her hands and wept.  First running into Tamlin and now this? This was turning out to be the a horrible night.  How was she going to get home?  Cauldron boil her, how the hell was she going to get to work in the morning? She couldn’t afford to be late! 

She gasped and jerked back in her seat as someone knocked on the driver’s side window.  She bit down on her bottom lip to stop the scream that threatened to escape.  Shit! Shit! Shit!  Tamlin had come for her!

“Everything ok, Feyre Darling?”

Feyre’s shoulders sagged in relief as she whipped her head around and gazed into a pair of undeniably beautiful eyes.

Feyre quickly cleaned her tear soaked cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket.  She rolled her window down and hissed, “By the the Cauldron, Rhysand. You scared the shit out of me!”

He smirked at her, but his face betrayed him and showed a hint of the concern he must be feeling.  

He drawled, “Well, sorry about that Feyre Darling.  But I saw you over here and you know I just can’t resist a damsel in distress. 

“Prick,” she huffed.

“A prick I may be, Feyre Darling.”  His eyes softened imperceptibly as he said, “I’m here to help you, nonetheless.”  The look he gave her was searching, though not in a way that made her feel uncomfortable.  

As much as Feyre hated to admit it, she needed help.  She would find a way to pay him back later. She couldn’t stand being in anyone’s debt. “My car won’t start.  Any chance you have a secret passion for auto mechanics?”

His eyes lit up and he grinned wolfishly at her, “Oh my darling, we both know that I prefer my _passions_ to be out in the open.”  Rhys leaned closer, resting his forearms on the door.  “You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” he purred.

Feyre rolled her eyes, though she felt heat creeping up her neck and cheeks.  “You’re a shameless flirt.”

“A shameless flirt I may be, but I got you to stop crying.”  Feyre blinked, the only emotion she would allow herself to show at the moment.  He was right, to her extreme surprise.  “Well, grab your stuff.  I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Darling, you couldn’t be a bother even if you tried.”  If possible, she turned an even darker shade of red.  She grabbed her purse from under her seat and threw her keys and phone inside.  Feyre quickly rolled up the window and climbed out of the car, locking the doors as she did so.  

He pointed down the street and said, “My car is parked this way.  You ready?”

“Yes.  And thank you, Rhys.  I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. 

“You’re welcome, Darling,” he said with a sincere looking smile.  They walked down the street towards his car in silence.  Feyre wrapped her arms around her chest as her thoughts drifted back to her ex-boyfriend.  She didn’t think that he had seen her, but she was sure that Ianthe had.  

“You want to talk about it?”

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “Talk about what?”

“Whatever has you so upset.”

“My car won’t start.  That’s why I’m upset, you nosy ass.”  

He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her for a second.  Instead of questioning her further, he said, “There it is.  Your chariot awaits.”  Feyre saw the familiar black BMW directly in front of them.  His shiny, brand new car was a far cry better than her old clunker.  He opened the door for her with a smirk and bowed grandly as she got in.  

“You’re such a dork,” she groaned.

 “I think you mean gentleman.” 

Feyre couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her.  As they drove down the street, she admired the interior of the car.  It definitely had all the bells and whistles, she thought, running a hand along the leather seat.  What was it with rich people and their leather?  Didn’t it get hot in the summer?  Rhys probably burned his ass every time he got in.  She snorted at the thought.  

 “What’s so funny, Darling?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.  

“Nothing.  Just noticing how fancy your car is.”  Like hell she was going to admit that her mind had been on his backside.  He would never let her live it down.    

 He smirked at her devilishly, as though he could read her mind.  She tore her eyes away from his and stared out the window   

“It certainly is much nicer than Wanda, anyways.”

“Wanda?”

“My car.”

“You named your car Wanda?” he asked with incredulity.  

“Yes, and do not make fun of my car!” she said, turning to face him and narrowing her eyes.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Feyre Darling,” he assured her.  

“I’m going to have to call a tow truck tomorrow.  Cauldron, I hope it’s not too expensive to get it fixed.  Otherwise, I’ll be walking everywhere from now on.” she sighed and rested her head on the headrest.

He smirked sassily at her, “Well, good thing I came along. Otherwise you’d be walking home at this very moment.”

“Why were you there tonight anyways?  I thought you said you weren't coming.” she asked. 

Feyre could have sworn that he flushed bright red as he answered, “Well, I decided that maybe the party was worth going to after all.”  Feyre gazed at him through the corner of her eyes.  She wondered briefly what he meant by that, but her thoughts were interrupted.  

“Well, here we are,” he said, sounding slightly disappointed.

Feyre grabbed her purse as the car pulled into her driveway.  “Thank you again, Rhys.  I owe you.  Big time.”

 He smiled broadly at her and said, “See you in the morning.  What time should I be here, by the way?”

“Huh?  What are you talking about?” she asked, voice full of confusion.  

“You’re going to need a ride to work in the morning, right?”

Well… ummmm… I… no.  You don’t have to,” she stammered.  

He gave her a lazy smile, “I know, but I want to.”

She considered his proposition for a moment.  She would need to get to work somehow, and he was offering… She squared her shoulders and said, “Seven.  Please be here at seven.”

His face lit up, “Of course.  See you in the morning, Darling.”   

“Good night, Rhys.”  She gave him a small smile and then turned around and went inside.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this latest part. I love getting comments and constructive feedback. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr as illyrianbeauty


	4. Driving Miss Archeron

Feyre cursed viciously under her breath as she fumbled in the dark.  The dim light coming from her alarm clock offered little assistance as she struggled to switch on the lamp.  Between her car breaking down and seeing Tamlin again, she had found falling asleep an impossibility and had been tossing and turning for the better part of an hour.  After adjusting to the sudden brightness of the light, Feyre sat up in bed and reached for her phone.  She groaned inwardly as she read the time on the alarm clock.  Tomorrow was going to be rough, but she knew she wouldn’t be getting to sleep anytime soon.  She just hoped her boss, Mr. Vanserra, wouldn’t be there in the morning.  He usually didn’t come in on Saturdays, which was one of the reasons she had offered to take the extra shift in the first place.  She entered the password into her phone and stared at the device in utter bewilderment.     

8 missed calls and 17 texts. All from Mor.  Shit.  She must have accidentally switched on the Do Not Disturb feature at some point during the evening.  Her stomach lurched slightly as she opened the thread.  She desperately clung to the hope that Mor was fine and that she hadn’t needed a ride home after all.  Feyre rested her head against the wall as she attempted to squelch her rising unease.  Surely Rhys would have gone to get Mor if she had needed a ride.  He certainly had been willing enough to bring her home when her car wouldn’t start.  Heat began creeping along her cheeks.  Cauldron, he was an insufferable prick.  She couldn’t help but to remember the look on his face as she had turned around to say good night, though.  She shook her head, as if to keep the errant thoughts from fully forming.  Mentally shoving away the images of violet eyes and a cocky smirk, she brought her attention back to the texts from Mor.

_You okay?_

_I swear, I had no idea that asshole was going to come tonight!!_

_I can’t believe he had the nerve to show up!!  And with Ianthe of all people!_

_Want me to knee him in the balls for you?_

_Who the hell invited her anyways???_

_Ugh!  If I have to listen to her fake ass laugh one more time…_

_Okay, so I may or may not have dumped my drink on the bitch’s head as I walked by!_

_Her hair was hideous anyways._

Feyre began giggling uncontrollably.  That, she wished she had seen.  She’s have to ask around school Monday to see if anyone had managed to capture the incident on camera.    

_U home yet?_

_Fey?_

_R U mad at me?_

_Text me back!_

_Please tell me you didn’t drive off crying and crash your car into a tree!_

_OMG! Why the hell is your car still here???_

_Fey!_

_Where are you?_

Feyre mentally slapped herself. Of course Mor would be worried when she saw her car deserted.

_If you ran off and got murdered... so help me I’m going to kill you!_

Feyre snorted. Mor was overly dramatic while sober, to say the least.  An intoxicated Mor was on a whole other level.  Just then, a new text appeared.

_I swear to to Cauldron, if you don’t call or text me in the next 60 seconds…_

Feyre’s face blanched as she read the remainder of the message.

_I’m going to call Nesta._

Feyre nearly dropped her phone, gasping in horror.  No! Mor wouldn’t dare!  She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned in frustration.  Yes. Yes, she would. She most certainly would call her older sister, whom she hadn’t spoken to in months.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Feyre’s hand shook slightly as she pressed the call button.  She closed her eyes and prayed to every god she knew that it wasn’t  too late.

Mor answered before the second ring.  “Holy shit, Fey.  I’ve been freaking out here!”

“You didn’t call Nesta, did you?” she implored.   

“Feyre Archeron!  That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Mor squawked in indignation.

She hissed, “Mor, just tell me you didn’t call my sister.”

“No, I didn’t call Nesta.  I was about to, though.  You’re lucky you called me back when you did.”   

Feyre breathed a sigh of relief.  She shuddered to think how Nesta would react to being woken up at this late hour.  They weren’t exactly on the best of terms at the moment.  

“Oh, thank the Cauldron.”

“Mind telling me what happened tonight?  And why you left your car clear across town?”

“My car wouldn’t start so I had to get a ride home.  Nothing to get your panties in a twist about.”

“Well, excuse me for caring about my best friend.” Mor said sassily.  

“I had my phone on silent. Sorry for worrying you.”  Feyre explained, hoping Mor wouldn’t pry further. No such luck.

“How are you? After seeing Tamlin, that is?”

Feyre mulled over how to best respond.  How was she?  She brought her knees up to her chest and sighed.  Her life was falling apart, if she were being honest.  Feyre closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her knees.  She felt as if she were hanging on by a thread.  A very thin and fraying thread, to be precise.  Pull yourself together, Archeron.  You can’t afford to fall apart now.  Feyre sat up and roughly wiped the tears from her cheeks.  

“I’m okay. Or at least, I will be.”

“I’m here for you, Fey. You know that right?”   

Fighting back the tears that were threatening to form, she croaked, “I know. Thanks Mor.”

“What are you going to do about the deathtrap?”

Feyre sneered, “Do not make fun of my car right now!”

Mor scoffed, “I think now is the perfect time, as it’s currently across town. Broken down.”  Her friend only laughed at the slew of filthy words that came pouring out of her mouth.  

“I’ll have to call someone to have Wanda towed in the morning,” she ground out.  The cost of that alone had her nearly hyperventilating.   

“So, who gave you a ride home anyway?”

Feyre scowled.  Leave it to Mor to ask the one question she wasn't keen on answering.  “Rhys.” she said, trying to keep her voice as even as possible.

“Oh, really?” Feyre could practically hear Mor wiggling her eyebrows through the phone.  

“Why must you do that?” she cried.

“Do what?” Mor asked innocently.  

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

“You love me. Anyways, I just don’t get it. Why won’t you give him a chance, Fey?”

Feyre was sure her cheeks were a deep shade of red.  She stammered, “He’s your cousin. Besides, he doesn’t think of me like that.”

“Oh, please. He’s been in love with you since the day he met you.”

Feyre felt as though the whole world had come to a screeching halt. “What?”

Silence.

“Nothing. Never mind me.  I’m drunk.  Forget what I just said.” Mor mumbled.

“Morrigan Cailleach! Start talking.” she demanded.     

“You really didn’t know?” Mor asked weakly.

“Know? Know what Mor? What are you talking about?”   

“Fey, he’s had a crush on you for years.”

Even though Mor couldn’t see her, she began shaking her her head in incredulity.  There was no way that Rhys would like her.  Sure, he teased and picked on her, but he didn’t think of her as anything but a friend.

This had to be some a bad version of a prank.  “Very funny, Mor.”  

“I’m not joking.  Why did you think he flirts with you so much?”

“But… I… He…”

“I love you Fey, but you really are truly oblivious sometimes.”

She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Rhys had feelings for her?  No, Mor was obviously more intoxicated than she had originally believed.  That had to be it.  It was the only thing that made sense.

As Feyre hung up the phone, she felt as if her world had been turned upside down and inside out.

*******

True to his word, Rhys arrived precisely at seven the following morning.  

_Good morning, Feyre Darling._

_I’m here!_

After reading the text, she hastily threw her hair in a ponytail.  She gazed at her reflection in the mirror.  She was presentable enough, she supposed.  Though even with copious amounts of concealer, she had been unable to hide the dark circles under her eyes.  

She grabbed her purse from her room and tiptoed to the front door, careful not to wake up her father.  He was still passed out on the couch, just as he had been when she returned home last night.  She paused at the threshold, turning slightly as she gazed at him.  An exorbitant amount of beer cans littered the floor and coffee table.  She pursed her lips at the sight of the mess.  There were days where Feyre was able to look past her father’s drinking.  Ignore the many times he had gambled away what little money they had.  Some days, she even had it in her heart to look past the fact that she had been single handedly financially supporting the family for years, essentially stripping away her childhood. Today, it seemed, was not one of those days.  She slammed the door the door behind her, no longer caring if she woke him up, and stalked down the sidewalk.

Rhys was leaning against the passenger side door, a coffee cup in each hand.  He gave her a bright smile as she approached.  

“Good morning, Darling!” he said, offering one of the cups to her.

Feyre scowled as she took the drink.  “You know I work at a coffee shop, right?”

He smirked, “Yes, but you prefer tea.” He opened the car door and motioned for her to get in.  She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

She climbed into the opulent vehicle, careful not to spill the drink on the leather interior.  While Rhys walked around to the driver’s side, she took a tentative sip.  It was an effort not to groan at the taste.  Jasmine and green tea.  Her favorite.  As it was rather pricey, Feyre didn’t often get a chance to indulge and purchase any for herself.  Somehow, Rhys had known what type of tea she liked best. She tried, and failed, not to read too much into that.  Biting her lip, she turned her head and looked out the window.   

As much as she tried, Feyre couldn’t seem to forget what Mor had said last night, even if it had been a joke.  She covertly snuck glances at Rhys as they drove in silence.  

“If you want, I can give you a picture,” Rhys purred.  “That way you don’t have to keep staring.”  He glanced at her with a wolfish grin before turning his attention back to the road.

“I was just noticing that you’ve grown your hair out.  It must be difficult to hide how incredibly big your head has gotten,” she deadpanned.

He tipped his head back and roared with laughter.  

“Ouch. That hurts, Darling,” he said with mock indignation.

“Oh, please.  Like anything I could say could put a dent in your arrogant facade.”

“You really are cruel, you know that Darling?”

“Prick,” she snickered.  Their eyes made contact for the briefest of moments and Feyre felt heat begin to creep up her neck.  Damn Mor and her drunken nonsense!

She tore her eyes away from his and looked down at her drink.  “Thanks for the tea, by the way.  And the ride. I owe you big time.”  Accepting help from others had never come easy for her.   

“Stop thanking me, Feyre. It’s no problem. Really”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded her head in thanks.  She could have sworn that Rhys’s eyes trailed down to her lips for a split second before focusing on the road in front of him once again.  

As they pulled into the parking lot, Rhys cleared his throat and asked, “So, what time is your shift over?  Or do you need me to come get you for lunch?”

Rolling her eyes at him, Feyre snorted, “No, you don’t need to get me for lunch.  Pick me up at 5?”

“Absolutely, Darling.  I’ll see you at 5,” Rhys said with his real smile this time, not his signature smirk.

Damn it! Why did Mor have to ramble on when drunk?  And why couldn’t she just forget about it?  It’s not like it was true!  And more importantly, why had she never noticed how Rhys’s eyes sparkled and crinkled around the edges when he smiled?     

She managed to give him a half smile as she climbed out. “See you later.”   

*******

Though Feyre was grateful to both Rhys and Mor for driving her around, she desperately wanted her car back.  She missed freedom of coming and going as she pleased.  Also, there was something reassuring about knowing she could pack up and leave town at a moments notice, if needed.  Thankfully, the mechanic said she should be able to pick up the car after her shift Saturday.  She really should do something special for Rhys and Mor as a way to say thank you for hauling her around all week, but she wasn’t sure what she could do.  She couldn’t afford to buy them anything and she was a terrible cook.  She’d have to come up with something, and soon.  

Since Rhys had practice in the mornings, Mor picked her up and brought her to school.  After practice was over in the afternoons, Rhys would be waiting to take her home or to work. The first time Rhys had brought her to work after school, he had surprised her by coming inside and plopping down in a booth in the back corner.  After asking for a cup of coffee, he had informed her that he would just wait until her shift was over.  She stared at him slack jawed as he pulled out a book and began reading.  She was so shocked that he was staying, that she hadn’t even taken the opportunity to tease him about being a book nerd.  

Feyre had tried to get him to leave, saying she could get a ride home from a co-worker.  Rhys had adamantly refused.  Each and every night that she had to work this week, he had stayed.  Tonight was no exception.  He sat reading the same book, Throne of Glasses or something like that.  It must not have been as boring as she had first though, because every time she glanced over at his booth, he had been chuckling quietly to himself.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad!” Suri practically sang.

Feyre whipped her head around and demanded, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Feyre! It’s obvious you like him! Just admit it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, “We’re just friends.”

Suri rolled her eyes and drawled, “Just friends. Mmmhmmm, sure.”

Feyre ran a hand through her hair and glared at the girl.  They had worked together for almost a year now.  Though they were in the same grade in school, they didn’t see each other much outside of work.  Suri had a reputation of being somewhat of a gossip, and Feyre hadn’t wanted certain aspects of her life to become public knowledge.

“He’s just helping me out until my car gets fixed.  End of story.”  

Suri wiggled her eyebrows and said, “Right.  That’s why he’s been sitting in that corner waiting for you.  Every night this week.  But what do I know.”

Feyre stammered, “Rhys does not like me like that.”

Suri glanced at Rhys before giving her a wink, “That’s not what I hear.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes at Suri.  “What exactly have you heard?”

A mischievous grin blossomed on the girl’s face as she said, “All in due time, Feyre.  All in due time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and constructive criticisms! Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
>    
> Find me on Tumblr as illyrianbeauty


	5. The Bargain

Feyre pursed her lips, her brows furrowing as she glared at Suri.  

“As it turns out, Suri, I’m not that patient of a person.  So, why don’t you just tell me what you know? Right now.” Feyre hissed.

Suri lazily twirled a strand of her onyx hair around a finger, a devious grin spreading across her face.  Feyre scrutinized her co-worker, who up until now had always been friendly to her.

“Where would the fun be in that?” she said in a honeyed tone.  Feyre set a hand on her hip and emptied her face of all emotions.  

Feyre feigned a nonchalant demeanor,  inspecting the nails of her other hand as she drawled, “It’s alright Suri.  You can stop pretending now.”

“What are you talking about?” she huffed.

“Stop pretending you know some big secret about Rhys.  You’re obviously making it up, for whatever reason. Just admit it.” Feyre lifted a brow at her. A challenge.  Feyre didn’t want to get on the gossip lover’s bad side, so she had to be careful in how she approached this.

Suri smirked, “Nice try, Archeron.  When you finally figure it out, let me know.” She turned around and sauntered off.  Feyre pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned in frustration. First Mor and now Suri.  Was everyone under the mistaken impression that Rhys liked her? She needed to set the record straight on this, and fast, before things got even more out of hand.  

“Darling, is everything alright?” Feyre jumped at the unexpected voice beside her.  Had he heard what she and Suri and been talking about? Cauldron, she hoped not! Rhys’s eyes twinkled in amusement as she cursed ferociously at him.

“By the Cauldron, Rhysand! I hate when you sneak up on me!”  Rhys placed a hand on his heart and sighed dramatically.

“I spend a week driving you around, and you’re back to calling me Rhysand?”

“Prick!”

“But seriously, Feyre Darling.  It looked as though you and Suri were about to start pulling each others hair out.”  A flush crept up her neck as he scrutinized her. Feyre was not about to confess to Rhys that he, in fact, had been the topic of conversation.   

“It was nothing,” she stammered. “Just a misunderstanding.”

His eyebrows shot up incredulously, “Okay, fine. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, just go back to the booth and read your nerdy book,” she huffed.

Rhys narrowed his eyes are her and said, “Nerdy? Pffffft! Have you even read the series? It’s amazing!”

“Nope.  Can’t say that I have, nerd boy.”  

His eyes flickered with excitement as he said, “It’s one of my favorites! I’m actually rereading it because the next book in the series comes out soon.  I’ll let you borrow the book as soon as I finish, Feyre Darling. I bet you’d love it, if you give it a chance.”

Feyre’s eyes glanced up to the ceiling before closing.  Her head remained tilted back as she sighed heavily. When she looked back at him, sadness clouded her features.  

“I have enough reading to do for Ms. Carver’s class.  Thanks anyways,” she said quietly. She smiled sadly and turned to walk away.  Rhys reached out and gently took hold of her hand, stopping her in her tracks.  She refused to turn around to face him, though. She didn’t want to see the pity that was sure to be written all over his face.  She lowered her head, her gaze lingering on her shoes.

“Fey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”  Her eyes darted briefly to her hand, still entwined with his.  She couldn’t help noticing how perfectly her hand fit in his.  

“You’ve never called me that before,” Feyre said as she slowly turned around to face him, though her eyes remained fixated on the ground.  

“Am I not allowed to?  Is that some special thing between you and Mor?”

She shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t mind.  I guess I just got used to you calling me Feyre Darling.”

Rhys gently reached out with his free hand and took hold of her chin, gently lifting her head until her eyes finally, reluctantly met his.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” What she saw in his expression had Feyre nearly breaking down.  It was not pity or contempt, as she had feared. Instead, his face was filled with both concern and kindness. He was genuinely concerned about her.    

Feyre’s eyes welled up with tears as she said, “I’m really behind in my Developmental Reading class.  Ms. Carver is threatening to fail me if I don’t read a ton of books that are insanely hard. And if I fail, I lose my chance at a scholarship.  And I can’t do it, Rhys. I just can’t do it.”

A tear rolled slowly down her cheek. Rhys released her chin and wiped away the tear with his thumb.  His eyes burned with an emotion Feyre couldn’t quite identify.

“I’ll make a bargain with you, Feyre Darling.  I’ll help you with your reading homework on one condition.”  

She raised a brow and said, “What’s the condition?

“I’ve been struggling to nail this new dive I’m working on.  Coach thinks that I should just let it go. Focus on my other dives.  But I disagree. I need something impressive if I want a shot at winning State.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and sneered, “I don’t know a thing about diving, Rhys.  I can’t help you.”

“No, wait. Here me out. I can fix the mistake myself if I can figure out what I’m doing wrong.  That’s where you come in. All I want you to do is go to the pool with me and record the practice.  Is it a deal?”

She bit her lower lip and considered her offer.  As his eyes flickered down to her lips, Feyre realized just how closely they were standing.  All it would take was for her to lean forward just an inch or two. Her breath hitched slightly as Rhys’s thumb traced a circle on the palm of her hand.  

“Feyre! Come on! Time to start closing up,” Suri hollered.  Feyre jumped back, pulling her hand out of his. A quick glance at her co-worker had her silently cursing.  Suri was smirking and them with an expression that clearly said, “I told you so.”

“Thanks for the offer. I’ll let you know later,” she said to Rhys quickly.  As soon as Rhys’s back was turned, she glared viciously at Suri, who just winked at Feyre and giggled.  

*******

Feyre’s lungs burned.  Her arms ached. She was utterly exhausted, but she couldn’t slow down.  She absolutely refused to let Ianthe pass her again. The last time she had slowed down in today’s practice, that… Ianthe had grabbed her ankle and yanked her backwards.  It had taken Feyre by surprise, causing her to flounder. She had swallowed a good portion of the pool in the process, allowing Ianthe to pass her. Feyre had eventually reclaimed her spot in the lead, but it had cost her.  She was pretty certain she was going to have a fat lip when practice was over.

As she neared the wall, Feyre began to smile.  She glided in, slapping the wall enthusiastically.  Panting heavily, she tore her goggles off. Ianthe finished a split second later, Mor trailing right behind her.  

“Nice job, ladies. Good effort today,”  Coach Tarquin said from the deck.

“Thanks Coach,” the three said simultaneously.  Feyre grinned at Mor. At least there was one benefit of her rivalry with Ianthe! If she kept swimming like this, she was bound to win a swimming scholarship to her preferred college, Prythian University.     

“Start your cool down.  200 of your choice,” he barked at them.  Feyre’s grin grew. Coach didn’t often give them the opportunity to choose their stroke during practice, so Feyre relished the opportunity.  

“I don’t have all day, Archeron.  Get the fuck out of my way,” Ianthe hissed.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t be more of a bitch,” Mor sighed, shaking her head in disgust.  

“Go ahead Ianthe.  You need a bit of a head start to make things fair.  Otherwise, I’d kick your ass too easily,” Feyre sneered.  

“Archeron.  Cailleach. Athans.  Move it!” roared their coach.

Feyre kicked off the wall, perhaps harder than she needed to.  Cauldron, she hated Ianthe.

Feyre soon completed the cool down and dragged herself from the pool.  She glanced at the clock and sighed in relief. She had plenty of time to get to work.  

“Bring it in ladies,” Coach Tarquin said, motioning for the girls to gather around him.

“Shit.  I don’t have time for this,” she muttered, shuffling over with the rest of the team.

“As you know, our meet with Hybern High is this weekend.  I’ll be assigning everyone the same events as last time, with one exception.  Archeron, Cailleach, Athans, and Bennett- you’ll be doing the 200 medley relay as well as your other events.”

Feyre suppressed a groan, sharing a look with Mor and Alis.  

“Uh, Coach? I’m the anchor, right?” Ianthe asked, a saccharine smile on her face.  Coach Tarquin looked down at the clipboard in his hand.

“Here’s the order. Cailleach- back,  Bennett- breast, Athans- fly, and Archeron- free.”

“You can’t be serious, Coach,” Ianthe hissed.  

“Is there a problem, Athans?” Tarquin said, voice low and dangerous.  

“There’s no way Archeron should be the anchor, not if we want a chance at winning.  She’s the weakest link on the team.”

Feyre’s face turned scarlet in both anger and embarrassment.

“That’s out of line, Athans.  Archeron is the anchor. End of discussion.  Now, go home. All of you. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

Feyre stalked into the locker room, silver lining her eyes.

“Can you believe that?” Mor snapped.

“Yeah, actually. I can.  Ianthe’s had it out for me for years,” she ground out.

“Well, I think it’s about time we teach her a lesson,” Mor said.

“What do you have in mind?” Feyre asked.  Mor just grinned malevolently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this part! Please leave comments and feedback. Thanks for Reading! :D
> 
> FairyPrincessKjar
> 
>    
> Find me on Tumblr as illyrianbeauty


	6. A Thought For a Thought

Feyre stared out of the car window as she mulled over Mor’s plan.  It was underhanded, devious even, and it would definitely get Ianthe off of their backs for good.  If they were successful, that is.  If they were caught though… if they were caught they would most likely be kicked off of the team, and as much as Feyre wanted Ianthe taken down a notch or two, that wasn’t a risk she was sure she was willing to take.  Feyre leaned her head back against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. The all too familiar feeling of dread began to overtake her senses.  She absentmindedly fiddled with the charm hanging around her neck, a birthday gift from Mor last year, as she tried to control her breathing.    

“What’s wrong, Feyre Darling?” Rhys asked, giving her a sidelong glance.

Without bothering to open her eyes, she huffed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a horrible liar.  You know that, right?” he chuckled lightly.  

“Prick,” she spat. It unnerved her how easily Rhys seemed to be able to read her. Not even Mor, her best friend, was able to see through the mask she so often wore.  Rhys though, it seemed, had a direct line to all of her innermost thoughts. The prospect of Rhys knowing her deepest secrets simultaneously thrilled and terrified her.  

“How about I tell you something I’m thinking, and then you do the same.  A thought for a thought,” he offered, his words lined with equal amounts of concern and sincerity. Slowly she turned her head in his direction and gave him a long, considering look.  

“Fine. Go ahead. I’m listening.” She rolled her eyes before drawling, “And it better not be anything disgusting.  There are certain things I do not need to know about.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he said, “Fair enough.  I’d hate to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“Delicate sensibilities, my ass.  I just don’t want to hear about you farting or anything like that.  Males are disgusting creatures, after all,” Feyre smirked sassily as she twisted a strand of hair around her finger.  Rhys tipped his head back and barked out a laugh.  Her stomach fluttered at the sound.  Heat began creeping up her neck and checks and she was unable to hold back the giggle that escaped.    

“No bathroom talk.  Agreed.” She raised an eyebrow expectantly at him.  Like hell she was going to go first.  This little game was his idea after all.  

“I am thinking that I really hope you agree to our little bargain.  I am thinking that I would really like to spend more time with you,” Rhys said, rather sheepishly, as he rubbed the back of his neck.  Though he remained focused on the road ahead, she noticed his cheeks turning slightly pink. Cauldron, he was adorable!  She bit her bottom lip as she considered his statement.   What if Mor had been telling the truth?  Feyre had dismissed it as nothing more than her friend’s drunken ramblings, but what if he actually liked her?  

Finally coming to a decision, she said, “I’m thinking that I need to talk to Mor about a stupid plan we made.  I’m thinking that I’m going to have her come pick me up after my shift.  You don’t need to wait around for me at the coffee shop tonight.”

Rhys’s forehead furrowed as he said, “Alright.”  A look of disappointment flashed across his features.  

Hoping she wasn’t making a horrible mistake, Feyre said as casually as she could, “I’m also thinking that I am going to accept your offer.  How does tomorrow night sound?  I have the night off.”  

Feyre watched his whole face light up as he purred, “Tomorrow night is perfect, Feyre Darling.”  

She squirmed slightly in her seat at the intensity in his eyes as he grinned at her. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and began searching for her cell phone. It would probably be a good idea to see if Mor would be able to pick her up later anyway, she thought to herself.  

Fey: Can you pick me up after my shift tonight?

Mor: Yeah, but I thought my idiot of a cousin was going to.

Fey: Please?

Mor: Of course. Anything for you, Feyfey.

Feyre snorted loudly. Feyfey? What was she? A fucking poodle?

Fey: DO NOT CALL ME THAT EVER AGAIN!!

Mor:  ;) See you later Feyfey!

Groaning slightly, she tossed her phone back into her purse and said, “Mor is going to pick me up, so you can just drop me off.”  

“You sure you don’t need me to stay?”  

“Yes, you mother hen.  I’ll be fine,” she hissed, though the corners of her mouth quirked up.

“Alright, but if Mor forgets to pick you up and you end up spending the night sleeping in a booth, you only have yourself to blame.”

She huffed, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The rest of the ride was spent in a comfortable silence, only interrupted by the pounding of her traitorous heart.    

***

Feyre nibbled on her lower lip, glancing at her phone for what must have been the hundredth time.  Mor was late, just as Rhys had predicted. Cursing viciously, she kicked the door frame with a ferocity that vaguely surprised her.  Feyre cried out as pain radiated through her foot.  Great.  Now she probably had a broken toe.  Icing on the fucking cake!  A loose stone bit into her back as she slumped against the wall. She let loose a ragged breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, willing herself to calm down.

“Keep it together, Archeron,” she scolded.  It wasn’t as if Mor had ever been known for her punctuality.  Cauldron knew that she loved to make a grand entrance.  Sighing heavily, Feyre scrolled through her contacts list until she found the one she needed and began texting.  

Fey: Where are you???  Her phone pinged with a response almost instantaneously.    

Mor: Almost there!

Her shoulders sagged slightly in relief.  Cauldron boil and fry her- she could almost see the devilish smirk on Rhys’s face if she would have had to call him for a ride home. She felt that all too familiar heat creeping up her cheeks, as it usually did whenever she was thinking about him. Her head snapped up at the sound of an approaching car, interrupting her errant thoughts before they could become inappropriate.  Feyre let loose a breath, one she hadn’t realized she had been holding, upon seeing it was none other than her wayward friend behind the wheel.  Not that this area of town was bad per se but Feyre didn’t want to press her luck by standing outside all night long.

She flung open the car door and hissed, “Seriously? Where the hell have you been, Morrigan?”

Mor drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she muttered, “Sorry.”  

Feyre climbed into the car, collapsing into the passenger’s seat dramatically.   She spun her head to face Mor, her blood still boiling and itching for a fight.   The hateful words she was about to spew caught in her throat when she spotted Mor’s red rimmed eyes.    

“What happened?” she asked quietly, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

Mor shrugged her shoulders dismissively, though her voice quavered slightly as she said, “It’s nothing.”  Feyre pursed her lips as she took in Mor’s hunched shoulders and pale expression.  So, that’s how she was going to be, huh?  Fine, she’d just have to pull it out of her the hard way. Feyre feigned disinterest as she inspected a nail.

Glancing at Mor surreptitiously through the corners of her eyes, she said offhandedly, “Okay, whatever.  I’ll just ask Rhys about it when I see him tomorrow.”  She was tremendously grateful for having the foresight of putting on her seatbelt as Mor slammed on the breaks and brought the car to a screeching halt.  

Mor narrowed her eyes at Feyre and glowered, “You wouldn’t dare.”  

Crossing her arms over her chest, she snapped, “Try me.”

“Fuck off,” Mor hissed, running a hand through her hair in agitation.  

“I love you too, Morrigan. Now tell me what’s wrong,” she cajoled. Mor slumped back against the seat and began massaging her temples.  

She took a steadying breath and then said, “My father called me tonight.”  

Feyre’s stomach twisted painfully as she asked, “What did he say?”

Mor’s hands dropped from her face as she laughed bitterly, saying, “He wanted to know if I had started applying to colleges yet.”

“What?” she asked, feeling thoroughly confused.  Mor had a rather tenuous relationship with her parents, and that was putting it politely. As far as Feyre knew, they had only spoken on the phone a handful of times and hadn’t seen each other since the day Mor left, and began living with Rhys’s family.  

Mor scoffed, “Who knows. He probably wanted to make sure I wouldn’t embarrass him further and besmirch the family name by going to a state school.”

Feyre took ahold of her hand and said, “What did you say?”

She smiled wickedly and said, “I told him that I didn’t have the time nor the crayons needed to explain myself in a way he would understand, then I hung up the phone.”

Feyre snorted, “And you say I’m the dramatic one.”  She gave Mor’s hand a gentle squeeze and then continued, “But seriously, are you okay?”

Mor heaved a sigh and said, “Yeah, I’m fine.”  She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively before saying, “So, are you going to tell me why you’re seeing my cousin tomorrow?”

“I’m just helping him out with a dive,” Ferye squeaked, utterly unprepared for the drastic change in the topic of conversation.

Mor clucked her tongue and said, “Sure. So why did you want me to pick you up then?  It’s not as if Rhys is busy, seeing as he’s currently reading. At home.”

Feyre squared her shoulders and said with determination, “I wanted you to pick me up because I need to know something.  Were you serious? That night you said Rhys had a crush on me, I mean.”

Mor gave her a considering look before finally saying, “I think you need to talk to Rhys about that.”

“Mor, I’m asking you, my best friend.  Please tell me the truth,” she implored, running a hand through her hair roughly.

Mor raised a brow and said with simple directness, “Yes, Feyre.  I was telling you the truth.” She snorted before continuing, “Granted telling you while drunk wasn’t my finest moment. Rhys will kill me if he finds out, by the way.  But yes, he has a crush on you.  He always has.”

“Rhys likes me,” Feyre said, still not quite daring to believe it.  

“Yes, my dear oblivious friend, he likes you,” she said in exasperation.

Feyre couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across her face. She paid attention to little else as Mor drove her home, other than those same three words she found herself repeating over and over. Rhys likes me.  Rhys likes me.  Rhys likes me.    

It wasn’t until much later that evening, as she was getting ready for bed, that she realized that she had forgotten to talk to Mor about their plan for Ianthe. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for reading! Hope you enjoyed this update! Please let me know what you think! I love reading your comments and feedback! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr- illyrianbeauty


	7. It's Not a Date!

Feyre sighed heavily as she glanced down at her watch, a hand-me-down she had inherited from one of her sisters, though she couldn’t remember which one at the moment.  Her scowl deepened, appalled that she had to endure another twenty-five minutes of her Developmental Reading class.  Though Feyre generally had difficulties concentrating in this particular class, today was much, much worse than usual.  She honestly had tried to pay attention to Ms. Carver’s lecture on Flowers for Algernon, attempting to rein in her tumultuous thoughts.  As much as she had tried, Feyre just couldn’t seem to focus.  Even a cute, tiny mouse wasn’t enough to hold her attention, not while she was feeling this unnerved anyways.      

Feyre had seemed to be in a perpetual state of apprehension the entirety of the day, albeit for two exceedingly different reasons.  The first of which happened to be the devious, utterly idiot plan Mor had talked her into. Feyre had been able to corner her best friend that morning on their way to school, one of the only benefits of being without a car.  Feyre insisted that they abandon their plan immediately, not wanting either of them to be suspended from the team.  Mor had agreed without putting up much of a fight, which left Feyre feeling rather suspicious, given that Mor was one of the most stubborn people in existence. Feyre prayed to the Cauldron Mor wouldn’t do anything stupid, that she would just give up on the idea of getting revenge on Ianthe.  She had a nagging suspicion though that her friend was about to do the exact opposite.    

The other reason her stomach was twisted into knots was the particularly handsome, and equally frustrating, captain of the diving team.  A flush crept up her neck and cheeks at the thought of her date with Rhys tonight. No, not a date.  She had agreed to help him out, and in return, he was going to help her pass her reading class.  That’s it. Nothing more.  Nope, definitely not a date.  Feyre was just going to be helping him out with a dive, not exactly what she would call a romantic rendezvous.  Her eyes suddenly grew wide, her face turning completely scarlet. Shit.  Diving.  Rhys was going to be diving.  In a speedo. Cauldron boil and fry her, she was not prepared to deal with that.  His tattooed and sculpted chest would be on full display.  She covered her face with her hands, groaning loudly.  Luckily, the bell rang at that moment, masking her frustrated growl.  She quickly gathered her books, eager to get to practice, anything to distract her from the heat that began to pool in her core.  

“Miss Archeron, I’d like to speak with before you leave.” Shit.  The sound of her teacher’s voice had the same effect on her as a cold shower.  

“I have to get to practice, Ms. Carver.  Coach will murder me if I’m late” she stammered.  

“This won’t take but a moment, dear,” she said, smiling tightly at Feyre. Stifling a groan, Feyre hoisted her backpack onto a shoulder and shuffled across the room.

“Yes, Ms. Carver?” she asked, struggling to keep her face as neutral as possible.    

“I wanted to check in with you, see how you were getting along with your assignment.  Have you made much progress?” the teacher asked, stroking her chin thoughtfully.

“Oh, it’s going great, actually,” she said brightly.  Lie.  Such an outright lie.  Ms. Carver raised a brow, a dubious expression flashing across her face.

“Is that so?” Ms. Carver asked, her tone clouded with exasperation.  Feyre wracked her brain, desperate for a way to dig herself out of this hole.  She didn’t have time for this!  She needed to get to practice, and then help Rhys… Rhys! Perfect.

“I hired a tutor,” she said, and impish smile spreading across her face. A half-truth… sort of.  

Looking rather taken aback, Ms. Carver stuttered, “Well, I’m pleased to see that you’re taking this assignment seriously.  Please let me know if you need any addition help.”

“Thanks, Ms. C.  See you tomorrow,” she said, edging closer to the doorway, towards freedom.  

“Have a good evening, dear,” Ms. Carver said, waving merrily as Feyre fled the room.  Sighing heavily through her nose, Feyre trudged towards the locker room.  How did she always manage to get herself into these situations?

Her thoughts inevitably returned to Rhys, as they had the majority of the day. Mor was convinced that he liked her, but was that the truth?  Or was Mor just trying to play the matchmaker?  Feyre pinched her nose, growling in frustration as she stalked to the back of the locker room.  She began riffling through her bag in search of her practice suit, glad for once that she was one of the first to arrive.  Cauldron knew she wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment.    

“Coach has us practicing for the relay today,” Ianthe said, voice dripping with disdain.  Feyre squeezed her eyes shut, cursing viciously under her breath.  Slowly, she turned around and faced Ianthe.  

“Thanks for letting me know,” she ground out, fighting to keep her voice from rising.      

“Try not to fuck this up for us, Archeron.”

“Excuse me?” she hissed, narrowing her eyebrows.  Ianthe inspected a nail, rather apathetic about the whole situation.

“You heard me, Archeron,” she said, arching a brow.  

“What do you want, Ianthe?” Feyre asked, crossing her arms roughly over her chest, nearly smacking herself in the face with the swim cap clenched in her fist. Ianthe placed her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing dangerously.  

“What I want, Archeron, is for you to not embarrass the team during our meet with Hybern.”  Ianthe scrutinized her, then sneered, “We both know how unlikely that is though.”

“Fuck off,” Feyre snarled, refusing to cower from withering glare Ianthe was sending her.  Feyre watched, her steely grey eyes flashing in anger, as Ianthe stalked towards her. Faster than she was able to detect, Ianthe ripped the cap out of her hand.

Ianthe waved it around in the air, cackling gleefully as she said, “Damn, Archeron! Even your cap is pathetic.”

“Give it back, Athans. Now!” Feyre demanded, thrusting her hand out expectantly.

Ianthe rolled her eyes and snorted, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Archeron. Like I want your sorry excuse for a cap.” Ianthe flashed her a malevolent smile and tossed the cap on the floor.  As Feyre watched the girl saunter off, her hands formed fists at her sides.  

“What’s going on, Fey? You look like you’re deciding where to hide the body,” Mor asked, catching Feyre off guard.  She hadn’t even heard her friend approach, not able to hear much over the roar in her ears.  

“Ianthe,” she snapped, bending down to retrieve her cap from the ground.  

“So, you were planning where you were going to hide a body then,” Mor said, wiggling her eyebrows.  Feyre rolled her eyes dramatically, though the corners of her mouth twitched up. Her face fell as she inspected her swim cap, which was now torn.  Shit. Shit. Shit. That was the only one she had.  Grasping the ruined cap in her hand, she let loose a frustrated growl.

“Fuck this shit. The plan is back on,” she snarled, no longer concerned with any potential consequences.  

Mor grinned ruthlessly and said, “Good.”

***          

“Have fun on your date, Fey!” Mor said in a singsong voice.  Feyre gaped at her friend as she flounced across the locker room.

“It’s not a date,” Feyre hissed, planting her hands on her hips.  No, it wasn’t a date.  Even if she… no.  Definitely not a date.  Mor paused at the doorway, twisting her head to peer at Feyre over a shoulder.  

Grinning deviously, Mor said, “Whatever you say, bestie.”  Feyre scoffed, giving her a vulgar gesture. Mor blew a kiss in her direction before prancing out of the room.  Feyre felt an all too familiar blush creeping along her cheeks.  She grabbed her bags off of the bench, throwing them over her shoulder.  At least Coach had put them through the wringer during today’s practice.  She had been able to release some of her pent-up frustrations.  Truth be told, she always felt better after a hard workout.  She plucked her phone from her purse, intending to text Rhys to let him know that her practice had ended.  The corners of her mouth lifted when she saw she already had a text from him.    

**_Rhys:_ ** _I’m bored.  Are you finished yet?_

**_Feyre:_ ** _Awwww! Poor baby!  Is your book not doing it for you anymore?_

**_Rhys:_ ** _No, not really.  Life’s more fun when you’re around._

A grin spread across her face as she read his message.  Bantering with Rhys had always been easy.  It was familiar, something she desperately needed at the moment.  

**_Feyre_ ** _: You’re a shameless flirt!_

**_Rhys:_ ** _Only for you, Feyre Darling._

Feyre bit her bottom lip, trying not to read too much into his text, but her heart began beating wildly in her chest.    

**_Feyre:_ ** _Prick!  Where are you at?_

**_Rhys:_ ** _Waiting for you! ;)_

Snorting as his quip, she tucked the phone back into her purse.  A smile crept across her face as she walked back to the pool. Somehow, he always knew how to make her smile.  Stopping that train of thought before it could go further, she made her way across the pool deck.  Since she was helping Rhys with his dive, she had opted not to change out of her practice suit.  Not wanting to sit around in just her swim suit, she had thrown on a pair of old sweatpants.  Rhys had seen her in a swimming suit before, so why was she so nervous all of the sudden?  

“About time!” he smirked as she walked up to him.      

Feyre huffed, “Prick.”  Ignoring the fact that Rhys was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing nothing but a speedo, Feyre paraded past him.  

“How did you get permission to use the pool after hours anyways?” she asked, dropping her bags onto the bleachers.  

“My winning smile and irresistible charm,” he said.  Feyre could practically see the smirk on his face.  She whirled around, ready to let loose a biting remark, and came face to face with his well sculpted chest.  She let out a surprised squeak.  

“Careful Darling,” he chuckled, eyes sparkling in amusement.  

Feyre’s eyes snaked along his chest, following the intricate patterns of his tattoo. It really was beautiful, and much more detailed than she had originally thought.

Her head snapped up as he purred, “See something you like, Darling?”

Scowling deeply, she sneered, “No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and continued, “So, can we get started? I have a lot of homework to do tonight.”

“Sure, Feyre Darling.  We can get started whenever you want,” he said with a wolfish grin.  

“Prick,” she huffed, turning a deep shade of pink.  

Chuckling deeply, Rhys strutted past her.  Feyre Archeron, don’t you dare look!  She mentally berated herself over and over, but her traitorous eyes slid down his frame, right to his backside.  As if he knew exactly what she was doing, Rhys twisted his head around and grinned at her.  Shit. Feyre cursed under her breath, turning an even deeper shade of red.  

Returning to her side, he held out his cell phone and said, “I’m going to do a few dives.  All I need you to do is to record them.”

“Easy enough,” she said, reaching her hand out expectantly.  As he placed the phone onto her awaiting hand, his hand brushed against hers, sending little shivers across her skin.  Rhys gave her his signature smirk and then sauntered off towards the diving boards.  Not able to trust herself, Feyre turned away from his retreating form and stalked over to the bleachers.  

She turned her attention to the phone, wanting to ensure she would be able to get a good shot of the diving boards from her perch.  A gasp escaped her mouth as she stared at the screen, eyes wide with shock.  She immediately recognized the picture, which Mor had taken last summer.  Feyre had come over for the night and the three of them had stayed up late watching horror movies.  At some point, she had fallen asleep on Rhys’s shoulder.  Her heart began to race as she studied the picture. Rhys was gazing down at her, a bright smile on his face.  Why did he have this picture as his background?  

As Rhys executed his dive over and over, Feyre couldn’t focus on anything other than the picture.    

“Let’s call it a night.  I should have enough footage to work with by now,” he said, interrupting her speculative thoughts.  She scrambled down the bleachers, brows furrowing.  Should she ask him about it? No. Maybe. Shit, she had to.

“So, when is your next night off?” he asked, running a hand through his drenched hair.  

“Monday,” Feyre said.  She frowned, and then added, “Why?”

He grinned devilishly at her and said, “Our bargain, Darling.”  Feyre set his phone next to her bag and groaned. She had forgotten about that particular part of their deal.  

“I changed my mind,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Rhys rubbed his hands together gleefully and said, “Oh no! There’s no backing out now, Feyre Darling.  I have already planned out our first few study sessions.”  

“Cauldron, why did I agree to this?” she moaned.

“Because you wanted an excuse to see me in a speedo,” he said, giving her a wink. Feyre narrowed her eyes and stalked over to him.  

“You are a fucking prick,” she snarled.

“Darling…” Catching Rhys by surprise, Feyre shoved him as hard as she could.  Feyre shrieked as he caught her by the wrist, pulling her into the pool right along with him.  Feyre emerged from the water, sputtering and trying to catch her breath. Rhys, who had landed next to her, was roaring with laughter.  Seeing the joy on his face, Feyre couldn’t help but to laugh along with him.

Still chuckling, he paddled closer to her and asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll live,” she giggled.  

He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind an ear.  Feyre’s breath hitched as his fingers grazed her cheek lightly.  She bit her bottom lip roughly as her core began to ignite.  She could have sworn he glanced down at her lips for a split second.

“I would really like to kiss you right now Feyre,” he said quietly, his eyes burning with desire.  

Feyre raised a brow and said, “Then what are you waiting for?”  Surprised by her own boldness, she closed the distance between them.  Rhys gently cupped her face with his hands and pressed his lip to hers.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this update! Please let me know what you think! I love reading your comments and feedback! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr- illyrianbeauty


	8. Seeing Red

Feyre knew that Rhys was watching her- she could practically feel his gaze devouring her as she meticulously cleaned the table tops throughout the coffee shop. Biting down on her bottom lip roughly, effectively stifling the giggle that threatened to escape, she sauntered over to where he was seated.  Doing her best to ignore the violet eyes that seemed to be calling to her very soul, she began wiping down the table directly in front of his, leaning over farther than was strictly necessary, shamelessly offering him a view of her backside. A wicked grin spread across her face as she heard him take in a sharp breath.  Oh yes, he most definitely was watching her! She twisted her head around and smirked at him over a shoulder.

“Everything okay? Coffee too hot?” she asked, raising a brow dramatically.  His eyes raked over her body, his pupils flaring slightly. 

“I think you missed a spot, Feyre Darling,” he said, grinning wolfishly as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Prick,” she huffed, rolling her eyes as she stood, pivoting her body towards him.   

“I’ll be sure to get a seat close to the starting blocks tonight.  I’d hate to miss another show like the one you just put on, especially if you’re in a swimsuit,” Rhys purred, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“You’re coming to the meet tonight?” she gasped, her eyes becoming owlish. 

“Of course, Feyre Darling.  It’s not every day that I get to watch my girlfriend kick Hybern’s ass,” he said, grinning broadly. Her face flushed a deep scarlet at his words.  While they hadn’t defined their relationship since the kiss they shared at the pool two nights ago, they had spent almost all of their free time together.  If they weren’t together, they were texting back and forth. Verbally sparring with Rhys had quickly become one of her favorite activities. She had known he was smart, but she never knew how much they actually had in common.  Feyre’s cheeks ached from the grin that seemed to be permanently etched across her face lately. 

“Girlfriend?” she drawled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind an ear.  

Rhys rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Well, yeah.  I mean, that is… if you’d like to be.” Cauldron, he was so adorable.  Feyre’s heart melted a little as he grinned sheepishly at her. 

“Archeron, I don’t pay you to flirt with the customers.”  Feyre whirled around, the harsh tone of her boss, Mr. Vanserra, taking her by surprise.  Shit. Shit. Shit. 

“Sir, Miss Archeron was just asking if I needed a refill,” Rhys said, casting a bland smile in her boss’s direction.  Mr. Vanserra looked skeptically at them, but turned around and shuffled away, muttering about useless teenagers under his breath.  As her boss stepped into the office, Feyre’s shoulders sagged in relief. 

“Thank you,” she mouthed, careful not to raise her voice above a whisper. 

Rhys winked at her and whispered, “Later.”  Biting her lower lip, she nodded. 

Cauldron boil and fry her, she could feel the heat creeping along her neck and cheeks. Her insufferable boss would know for sure that she had, in fact, been flirting with Rhys.  Her boyfriend. A broad grin spread across her face as she backed away from him, retreating towards the safety of the cash register. Feyre glanced down at her watch, grateful her shift was almost over.  She should have just enough time to swing by the mechanics to pick up her car before the meet started. 

Her eyes drifted across the café and landed on Rhys’s form.  She hastily looked away as a nervous giggle escaped her lips.  He was going to come watch her swim. Feyre honestly couldn’t remember the last time anyone had come to one of her meets.  None of her family certainly. Tamlin had come to exactly one, early on in their relationship, but he had been bored, disdainful even, the whole time.  She hadn’t wanted to push him into going again, though his obvious dismissal had stung more than she was willing to admit at the time. But with Rhys… it was different.  She hadn’t even asked him to come, but he was going to anyways. To support her. 

The tinkling of the door alerted her to the presence of a new customer.

“Welcome to…” Feyre’s voice trailed off as Ianthe flounced inside.  Fuck. 

“Archeron, I didn’t know you worked here,” Ianthe said, scorn dripping from every word. 

Feyre narrowed her brows as she asked, “What can I get for you?” 

Ianthe gave her a serpentine smile and said, “I’ll have a small, I ced Skinny Hazelnut Macchiato with sugar-free syrup, an extra shot, and light ice.  No whip, of course.” 

“I’ll have it ready for you in just a moment,” Feyre said, forcing her voice into a calm, pleasant tone.   

“Oh, and make sure it's well stirred,” Ianthe said with a saccharine smile.  

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she turned her back on Ianthe and began making the obnoxious drink.     

“Rhysand! What a pleasant surprise!” Ianthe simpered.  Feyre twisted around, glaring venomously at the blonde, who was prowling over to where he sat.    

“Ianthe, it can hardly be a surprise, seeing that my car is parked in front of the café,” Rhys said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.  

“You’re so funny,” Ianthe tittered, running a hand down the length of his arm.  Feyre’s lip pulled back in a snarl, the drink she had been making sat forgotten on the countertop.  Rhys sat back, removing his arm from her grasp. 

“Is there something you needed?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.  Rhys is uncomfortable around her, Feyre realized. She dashed across the café, making eye contact with Rhys as she approached. She stepped past Ianthe, positioning herself in front of Rhys.

“My shift is almost over.  Why don’t you go start the car?  I’ll meet you outside in just a few minutes.”  She could almost taste the relief pouring off of him as he stood up.

“Sounds good, Feyre Darling,” he said, giving her a grateful smile. Feyre noted how tense his shoulders were as he walked out the door, though he did a good job of hiding it. Feyre briefly wondered what had caused his discomfort- she would have to ask him about it later on.

“Slut,” Ianthe hissed, pulling her attention away from Rhys’s retreating form.

“Excuse me?” Feyre snarled, placing her hands on her hips.  

“You heard me, Archeron.  I mean, why else would Rhysand be interested in you?  Not that I’m surprised. After all, I heard you gave it up to Tamlin on the first date.”

“Fuck off, Ianthe,” Feyre growled, crossing her hands over her chest roughly.  

“Feyre Archeron! Get over here right now!” Mr.  Vanserra bellowed.  Feyre blanched as Ianthe gave her an adder’s smile.  Shit. Shit. Shit. 

***

Feyre strolled into the familiar locker room, determined to keep her turbulent emotions under control. Her brows furrowed deeply as Ianthe’s voice drifted towards her from across the room.  Keep it together Archeron, she mentally scolded herself. She couldn’t afford to lose her shit now. There would be plenty of time for her to deal with the repercussions of losing her job after the meet.  For now, she needed to put on her game face. Squaring her shoulders, Feyre sauntered over to her locker. 

“Hey! Did you get your car back?” Mor asked, tying her long, blonde hair into a tight ponytail.  

“Yup! Rhys dropped me off at the mechanics earlier!” Feyre said, searching through the bag for her team suit.  

“So, speaking of Rhys… when is my idiot cousin taking you out on another date?” Mor smirked, placing her hands on her hips. 

Feyre clucked her tongue, “Mor, I am not telling you anything about my relationship with Rhys.  You’d probably show up halfway through the date and embarrass the hell out of me.” 

Her friend wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and said, “A relationship, huh? Since when did that happen?”  

“I hate you,” Feyre hissed, giving her a vulgar gesture.  Mor giggled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

“Love you too, Fey.  And I am happy for you.  Rhys might be a huge dork, but he really is a great guy.  For what it's worth, I think the two of you will be really good together.” 

Nudging Mor playfully with her hip, Feyre said, “Thanks Mor. Now get off me so I can get my suit on.” 

“Archeron, I’m surprised you showed up.  I would have thought you’d be at home crying.”  Feyre stiffened, her eyes narrowing deeply as she turned to face Ianthe.

“Well, you were wrong.  What do you want?” Feyre hissed, her hands forming fists at her sides.

Ianthe motioned to the redhead standing next to her, “I just wanted to introduce you to Amarantha, the captain of the Hybern team.  Besides me, she’s the other person who is going to be kicking your ass tonight.” 

Feyre crossed her arms over her chest as she assessed the other swimmer.  Amarantha gave her a once-over, and then dismissed her entirely. 

“Like you said Ianthe, there’s no real competition here.  Let’s go warm up,” Amarantha drawled. Feyre’s jaw clenched as the two girls turned around and walked away.

“Are you fucking kidding me?  As if Ianthe wasn’t bad enough.  Now she has an accomplice?” Mor snapped, her eyes blazing with anger.  Feyre couldn’t disagree with her. She had a bad feeling that the redheaded swimmer wasn’t someone she wanted as an enemy.

*******

Feyre shook her arms rapidly, trying to release some of the tension she felt.  So far, she had managed to place first in each of her events. That still hadn’t stopped Ianthe from hissing at her as they walked towards the starting blocks though.  The medley relay was her last event of the evening, and she prayed to the Cauldron it went well. Ianthe would no doubt blame her if the team didn’t pull off a first place win.  As the first whistle sounded, Mor dropped into the water. If she was feeling nervous, Mor gave no indication as she grasped the starting block. She was by far the best backstroker they had on the team.  She winked at Feyre as she placed her feet on the wall. Ferye wished she felt a fraction of Mor’s confidence in that moment. 

“Swimmers, take your mark.”  Mor coiled her body tightly, preparing to kick off the wall.  Feyre’s heart began racing wildly as the buzzer sounded. Mor’s start was picture perfect, and quickly pulled into the lead.  Feyre’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as she watched the race, eyeing the swimmers in each lane, comparing their progress to Mor’s.  Alis stepped up onto the starting block, preparing herself for Mor’s return. From the stands, Feyre could hear Rhys cheering on his cousin. The corners of her mouth twitched upwards.  Not for the first time that evening, she felt glad that he was there. As Mor tapped the wall, Alis launched herself from the starting block. While the breaststroke frustrated Feyre to no end, Alis excelled at it.  The lead that Mor had given them began to grow further. Mor pulled herself out of the pool, breathing heavily. 

Hugging her fiercely, Feyre said, “Great job, Mor.”  Unable to speak just yet, Mor just flashed her a grin.  Together, they turned their attention back towards the race.     

“Don’t fuck this up, Archeron,” Ianthe hissed, climbing onto the starting block.  Feyre had the urge to push her into the water, the event be damned. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, trying to get her breathing under control.  With the lead that Mor and Alis and gotten them, it would be obvious if Ianthe tried to throw the race at this point. At least they had that going for them, she thought bitterly.  She open her eyes in time to watch Ianthe dive into the water. Alis pulled herself from the pool, panting heavily. Now that Ianthe wasn’t there to unnerve her futher, Feyre felt herself beginning to slowly calm down.  She hated to admit it, but Ianthe was a decent swimmer. Checking her goggles one last time, she climbed onto the starting block. 

“GO FEYRE!” Rhys yelled from the stands.  Tuning out everything around her, Feyre focused solely on Ianthe.  She crouched down into the starting position, wrapping her thumbs under the block.  The instant Ianthe’s hand made contact with the wall, Feyre exploded up and into the air.  As her body slide into the water, Feyre was grateful for the endless drills Coach Tarquin had put them through.  As nervous as she was, her start had been flawless. Taking advantage of her forward momentum, she began flutter kicking in earnest.    

She was vaguely aware of her coach hollering from the edge of the pool, “Kick.  Kick.” Feyre had always felt more sure of herself while in the water. Swimming was something she had always been exceptional at, which is probably why she was having such a hard time dealing with the endless criticism from Ianthe.  Pushing the thought out of her head, she concentrated on her breathing. 

As Feyre spotted the T on the bottom of the pool, she tucked her chin, preparing for her flip turn.  Feyre launched herself off of the wall, keeping her body as streamlined as possible. She risked a glance towards the next lane, at least she was well ahead of that swimmer.  The roar of the crowd began to make its way to her ears as she neared the wall. Sprinting as quickly as was possible, she closed the remaining distance. With her hand outstretched, Feyre lunged forward and tapped the wall.  A grin spread across her face as Mor whopped with joy. She didn’t need to see the timer to know they had won.

*******

Feyre pranced out of the locker room, arm in arm with Mor.  

“Let’s go get some ice cream to celebrate.  My treat,” Mor said, a wide grin stretching across her face.  

Feyre snorted, “You would have ice cream for breakfast if you could.”  

Mor rolled her eyes and huffed, “Do you want any or not?”  

“When have I ever said no to ice cream?” she asked, raising a brow incredulously.  

As they turned the corner, Feyre stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart constricted painfully as she took in the scene before her.  Amarantha had her arms wrapped around Rhys’s neck, fingers entwined in his hair, as she kissed him passionately. Before the tears could begin to fall, Feyre dropped her bag and fled.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this update! Please leave comments and constructive criticisms. I love reading your thoughts! Thanks for reading! :D 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr- illyrianbeauty


	9. Forgiving is Easy. Trusting? Not So Much!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: rape and mentions of past abuse

Feyre fumbled with her purse, frantically searching for her car keys, as she tore through the parking lot.  A fool.  She was such a Cauldron damned fool for ever letting her guard down around him.  She had shared things with Rhysand that she hadn’t told anyone before, not even Mor.  Feyre bit her lip savagely, determined not to let the tears fall until she was locked in the safety of her bedroom.  An empty, bitter laugh escaped past her lips.  She should have known that getting involved with Rhysand was a bad idea from the start.  At least she hadn’t wasted months and months of her life in a relationship with him, only to learn what he was truly like, as she had with Tamlin.  No, it was better that things ended now.  Before he could wholly destroy her heart, what was left of it anyhow.  

With hands that were quivering slightly, Feyre unlocked her car door and wrenched it open.  As she flung herself inside the vehicle, her lips pulled back into a snarl.  At least she had been able to get Wanda from the mechanics today, providing her the escape she so desperately needed now.  Not for the first time in her life, she had the urge to pack up her few, precious belongings and leave this Cauldron forsaken town.  Resting her forehead on the steering wheel, Feyre took in a shuddering breath.  She had let herself believe that Rhysand was different.  She had been deceived so easily by him.  In the end, he had shown that he was no better than Tamlin.

Feyre barely registered the world around her as she drove home, too lost in her own brooding,  desperate thoughts.  She trudged into the house, wanting nothing more than to forget about everything that had happened that afternoon.

“Feyre, you got home early.  How was work?” her dad slurred from the couch, where he was sprawled out with a beer in his hand.

“I had a meet this afternoon.  We won.  Not that you care or anything,” she hissed, placing her hands on her hips.

Her father narrowed his eyes and asked, “I thought that you were working today, not wasting your time splashing around in a swimming pool.  Will you still be able to pay your share of the bills this month?”

Feyre clucked her tongue as she sneered, “Don’t sit there and act as though I don’t work my ass off every single day in order to pay for the bills around here.  If it weren't for me, we’d be homeless.”    

Waving a hand dismissively, he said. “Well, now that you’re home… what are you cooking for dinner?”

“Make your own damned food,” Feyre snapped, her face contorted with rage.  She stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.  

Sinking onto the floor, she covered her face with her hands. What in the bottomless depths of the Cauldron was she going to do now?  Tears began coursing down her cheeks as her body trembled.  She would give herself the rest of the weekend to wallow in the wretchedness that was her life.  Monday.  Monday she would start the process of moving on and forgetting about him.  She would also need to find a new job.  But she didn’t have the energy to worry about the horrific financial situation she was currently in.  For now… all she could do was sit on her floor and weep.

***

Feyre scowled deeply as her phone began to vibrate. Again.  She had, for obvious reasons, been ignoring the numerous calls and texts from Rhysand.  She glanced at the screen, biting her bottom lip in frustration.  It was Mor, not him.  She loved her friend dearly, but she just couldn’t talk to anyone right now. She strolled into the kitchen and pulled a pint of Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer.  Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream for dinner was exactly what she needed.  She plopped down on the couch, eager to spend the evening watching mindless tv and eating her weight in junk food.  As she watched an old, cheesy Lifetime movie, her mind inevitably kept coming back to the events of the last few days.  Thinking about Rhysand was like the sore in your mouth you just can’t seem to stop prodding with your tongue.  No matter what she did, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.  It was infuriating.  

She had spent the day going from business to business, looking for a place that would hire her.  All the while, she was trying not to think about him.  She had eventually found a job in a dingy, slightly smelly restaurant.  A frantic pounding on the door brought her out of her contemplation.  They had planned on having her first “reading lesson” that night.  He couldn’t seriously think that she would still want to continue with the lessons. Could he?  Her stomach did a flip at the thought.  She took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Why the hell have you been ignoring all of my calls?” Mor hissed, placing her hands on her hips.  While Feyre felt mostly relieved that it was Mor at the door, she found that a small part of her was feeling disappointed that it hadn’t been Rhysand.      

“Well, hello to you too, Morrigan.  Please, do come in,” she huffed, rolling her eyes dramatically.  She squawked indignantly as Mor enveloped her in a bone crushing hug.  

“I can’t believe you skipped practice today,” Mor said, taking a step back.  

Feyre cringed slightly as she asked, “Was Coach pissed?”

Mor waved her hand dismissively and said, “Pfffft. No, I told him you were sick.”  A wave of gratitude surged through her.  One less thing for her to worry about.  

“Thanks babe! I owe you!” Feyre said, flopping down on the couch theatrically.  

“So, why did you really skip school today?” Mor asked, collapsing onto the other end of the couch.  

“I had to find a new job,” Feyre said evasively, not wanting to discuss the topic further.  

“Why?  What happened with the diner?”

“I got fired.  It’s a long story, and I really don’t feel like talking about it.  Mor gave her a long, searching look, but eventually nodded her head in agreement.  

“How are you?” Mor asked carefully.

Feyre snorted, “You mean… how am I after seeing Rhysand kissing another girl?  I’m wonderful!”

Mor placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m not going to say that you shouldn’t be upset, but I do think that you should talk to him, Fey.  At least hear him out.”  

Feyre’s brows narrowed as she asked, “What did he say to you?”

Mor chewed on her bottom lip and said, “It’s not my place to say.  I know you’re angry at him, but just give him a chance to explain.”  

“I’m more pissed at myself for being stupid enough to trust him.” Feyre forced a smile on her face and continued, “Actually, now that I think about it, I really should be thanking him.”

“Thanking him?  What the hell for?” Mor sputtered, her eyes narrowing dramatically.  

“For reminding me that you can’t fucking trust anyone in this world, other than yourself.”  

“Oh Fey… no,” Mor groaned, throwing her arms around Feyre’s shoulders again.  Feyre started tuning her friend out.  She knew Mor meant well, but she had just learned a hard lesson in life- never trust anyone.  They will all betray you in the end.

***

Saying that Feyre hated her new job was an understatement.  She cursed viciously under her breath as she hoisted the large bucket of grease over her head, pouring its gelatinous contents into the dumpster.  The stench emanating from its depths had her fighting against the bile that threatened to rise in her throat.  She had been desperate though.  She needed to make money, and Sicars was the only place in town that happened to be hiring. That evening, she had to remind herself over and over that things would get better.  Once she graduated in May, she would be leaving this Cauldron damned town.  That is, if she managed to get an athletic scholarship to Prythian University.  No, she would be attending the university she had always dreamt about.  She refused to accept the alternative.  Sighing heavily, she raked her fingers through her hair and pivoted towards the door.  

Feyre began shuffling down the darkened alleyway, resigned to spending the next hour of her life washing dishes.  She stiffened at the sight of three males sauntering towards her.  While the back entrance of Sicars was only a short distance away, the three males were now between her and the doorway of the restaurant.  Shit.  Realizing that here was no way to avoid them now, she mentally slapped herself for being so careless.  Biting down on her bottom lip roughly, she increased her pace, praying that they would let her pass without incident.  Feyre cringed as the male in the middle, the tallest of the three, looked her up and down suggestively.

“Well, hello beautiful!  What is a pretty little thing like you doing in this alley tonight?” he said, grinning down at her wolfishly.  

She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear and said as blandly as she could muster, “Working.  My boss will be pissed if I don’t get back soon.  Have a good night.”  

“Hey, no need to run off so fast.  We just want to get to know you, honey,” he drawled.  As they prowled closer, Feyre shifted from one foot to another, weighing her options.  She gripped the handle of the bucket, ready to launch it at the approaching males, if the need to protect herself arose.    

“Leave me alone,” Feyre hissed, putting much more strength into her voice than she actually felt at that moment.  

“Come now, love.  We’re real friendly,” he sneered, coming to a stop directly in front of her.  The two males flanking him continued walking until they were directly behind her, effectively cutting off her only means of escape.  Shit. Shit. Shit.  The male whom she assumed was the leader of the group, reached out and grasped her arm.    

Wrenching her arm out of his clutch, she snarled, “Get your hands off me.”  

His eyes flashed with hunger as he inched closer and whispered, “We’re going to have so much fun with you tonight.”  The foul stench of the alcohol on his breath assaulted her nostrils.  Her body began trembling uncontrollably.    

“Don’t touch me,” she stammered, shrinking back from him.  An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her backwards.  Feyre staggered, falling out of his grasp.  Callused hands caught her before she could hit the pavement, setting her upright on her feet.  

“There you are, Darling.  I’ve been looking for you.”  Rhysand’s familiar voice and comforting citrus scent enveloped her as he wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders.  Tucking her in tightly to his side, he said, “Enjoy your evening gentlemen.” Feyre clung to Rhysand as he continued to glower at the three males.  Relief coursed through her as her would be assailants retreated down the alley, heading in the direction from which they had come.

“Feyre, are you alright? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.  Stepping out of the shelter of his arms, Feyre turned to face her savior. The very person she had been so desperately trying to avoid all week.  

“Oh, we’re back to pretending you actually care about me?” she asked quietly, but not weakly.  A hurt expression flashed across his face, but was quickly covered by a blank, emotionless mask.

“I do care about you, Feyre.  I always have.  If you let me explain…”  

“What are you doing here, Rhysand?” she asked, harshly cutting him off.  She wrapped her arms across her chest, hoping to ease the tremors that wracked her body.

“I wanted to talk to you, but you’ve been avoiding my calls.  I went to the diner earlier tonight, but you weren’t there.  Suri told me that I might find you here.”  Of course, she did.  Busybody.    

“Go home Rhysand,” she said, her lower lip wobbling.  She hadn’t realized that she was crying until he reached a hand out, brushing away her tears with his thumb.  She couldn’t go there with him, not after what had just happened. After what had almost happened.  

She retreated a step, and sobbed, “Please.  Just go.” He reached out and gently took ahold of her elbow.  She flinched, as though she had been struck.  The color drained from his face as he released her arm.

“Who?” he seethed, the muscle in his jaw twitching.  

Terror overtook her face as she stammered, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tamlin?” he forced out, his lips pulling back into a snarl.

“It’s none of your business, Rhysand,” she hissed, her hands forming fists at her sides.  

“None of my business?  The hell it’s not,” he said, narrowing his brows.  She cocked her head to the side and laughed bitterly.  

“You lost that right the moment you decided to fuck Amarantha.”

Rhys ran a hand through his hair roughly as he said, “I did not sleep with Amarantha.  I didn’t even want to kiss her.”

“What happened then? You tripped and your mouth just happened to land on hers?”

“No, nothing like that.” He sighed heavily before continuing, “I was in the hallway, waiting to congratulate you.  She walked up to me and just… grabbed me.  I swear to you Feyre, I have no idea who she was or why she did that.  I pushed her off of me, but it was too late.  You had already run off,” he pleaded, silver lining his eyes.  

“I can’t.  I just can’t do this right now, Rhysand.  I’m going home,” Feyre choked out, backing away from him further.  He reached a hand out towards her, but let it drop with a heavy sigh.  

“Feyre, would you agree to having dinner with me tomorrow night?  We can continue this conversation then.”

“A date? You’re asking me out on a date?” she asked, laughing mirthlessly.  

“No, not a date.  Just two friends eating a meal together and talking.”  He eyed the alleyway pointedly before saying, “I’d rather not have this conversation in another dark, foul smelling alley where I can hardly see your beautiful eyes.”

She eyed him warily before saying, “Fine.  Pick me up after practice.  Don’t be late.”  Her heart twisted painfully as a radiant smile spread across his face.  She wasn’t about to let him fool her, though. Not again.  The same three words ran through her mind, as though on a continuous loop.  Trust no one.  Trust no one. Trust no one.  Trust no one.  Trust no one. Trust no one.  Trust no one.            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this isn’t well edited. There are probably tons of mistakes. But, I hope you still enjoyed this update! Please let me know what you think! I love reading your comments and feedback! ~ Rachel


	10. Déjà Vu

Breathe, pull, kick, glide.  Breathe, pull, kick, glide.  Breathe, pull, kick, glide.  Feyre felt the repetitious rhythm of the familiar stroke begin to soothe her jagged nerves. Her thoughts, which had been a tumultuous mess all day long, finally began to calm as she propelled herself through the water.  Typically, Feyre would have starting cursing viciously under her breath halfway through the 8 x 100 drill, seeing that she had developed a rather severe love-hate relationship with the damned stroke.  And by love-hate, she meant that she loathed the breaststroke with a deep, dark passion, and Coach seemed to love torturing them with multiple laps of the blasted stroke each and every single practice.     **  
**

With each thrust of her arms, she seemed to siphon off a little more of the tension she felt running through every fiber of her body.  Admittedly, she had been on edge all week, and the events of the previous evening had only served to push her that much closer towards the breaking point.  As Feyre pushed off the wall, Ianthe hot on her heels, a small snarl escaped her.  Not wanting to give that bitch the satisfaction of being able to pass her, Feyre increased her pace as she sprinted towards the opposite wall.  Though it may have been rather childish of her, Feyre was immensely satisfied when the palm of her hand slammed into the wall, a good 15 seconds ahead of Ianthe’s.  Panting heavily, she rested her arms on the ledge of the wall.  She ripped the goggles off her face and glanced at the practice board, hoping that the cooldown would be freestyle, her prefered stroke.

“Archeron, I hate to admit it, but I’m actually impressed.” Feyre’s jaw tightened as she turned to face Ianthe.

“And why, pray tell, is that?” she asked, her brows narrowing.

Ianthe gave her a serpentine smile and said, “If my boyfriend had broken up with me like that, kissing another girl in front of me and whatnot, I wouldn’t have been able to show my face at school for at least a month.”

Suppressing the urge to shred her into teeny, tiny pieces, Feyre snapped, “Rhys didn’t dump me. We’re just friends.”  Regardless of what she may have once wanted, had hoped for.  No, she couldn’t afford to think like that. There was only so much her heart could withstand.      

“Pity.  Amarantha keeps going on and on about what a good kisser he is,” Ianthe said, her lips curving into a malicious smirk.

“Fuck off Ianthe,” Feyre snarled, low and spiteful.  Before she could say, or do, something that she would end up regretting, she pushed off the wall, abandoning her goggles where they lay on the pool deck.  Though it was supposed to be a cool-down, her anger and frustrations had her tearing down the lane, kicking for all that she was worth.

Had that kiss been, as Rhysand had suggested, one-sided? Had Ianthe and that redheaded bitch orchestrated the whole thing, just to hurt her?  Ianthe was devious, but would she really go so far?  Feyre cursed herself soundly, certain that Ianthe would go to any lengths necessary to get back at her.  While she wanted to rejoice in the possibility that Rhysand hadn’t willingly kissed another person, she didn’t want to open her heart up once more, just for it to be shattered again. She needed to talk to Rhysand.  Feyre was suddenly grateful for the dinner she had been dreading the majority of the day.  For better or worse, she needed to hear the truth from him. She just hoped that the truth didn’t destroy her completely.  

##  *******

Feyre bit her bottom lip, stifling the groan that threatened to escape.  She glared at her reflection in the mirror, as though it were to blame for the state of her clothing.  She pinched the bridge of her nose and laughed bitterly.  Why did she even care about how she looked? It’s not like he was taking her out on a real date anyways.  Why should she care if Rhysand took her to an expensive restaurant and she stuck out like a sore thumb?  

“Here,” Mor said, thrusting a small bundle into her hands.  Feyre gazed at the offered gift, a look of confusion flashing across her face.    

“What’s this?” Feyre asked, glancing surreptitiously at Mor.

“A dress.  I figured you’d need something to wear on your date tonight,” she said, voice dancing with laughter.

Feyre scowled deeply as she hissed, “It’s not a date, Morrigan!”

Mor snorted, “You like him. He likes you. You’re going to dinner together. How is that not a date?”  Feyre didn’t have the energy to argue with her friend at the moment, not when the very thoughts Mor had just voiced aloud had been running through her mind all day long.  Instead, she gave her a vulgar gesture, which Mor returned all too happily, along with a saccharine smile.  Narrowing her brows, Feyre unwrapped the parcel, fully expecting to discover a revealing, barely there monstrosity.  She couldn’t keep the utter surprise from flittering across her face as she unveiled a gorgeous, cobalt blue dress.  

“Mor, it’s beautiful.  It must have cost you a fortune.  I couldn’t possibly…” Feyre stammered.

Mor waved her hand dismissively, “Of course you can.  Now, put the damn thing on and see if it fits.” Feyre gave her a grateful smile, eager to change out of her scruffy, slightly fraying clothing.  

As Feyre took in her reflection, she had to admit that Mor had outdone herself this time.  She couldn’t help feeling as though she was heading into a war, though not the sort that was wagged with guns or swords.  No, this battle was to be decided with a few simple words.  Feyre felt more confident now that she donned this exquisite dress, her battle armor of sorts for the evening.

A huge grin stretched across Mor’s face as she said, “Fey, you look beautiful.”

“Thanks.  I’ll find a way to pay you back for the dress, I swear.”

Mor said, “No, you won’t.  It’s a gift.” She grinned deviously at Feyre before continuing, “As long as I’m the maid of honor when you and Rhys get married, I’ll consider us even.”  

Feyre rolled her eyes dramatically as she said, “You’re insufferable.”

Mor looped her arm through Feyre’s and clicked her tongue, “Better hurry up.  You don’t want to be late for your date with my cousin, now do you?”

The corners of her lips twitched as Feyre grabbed her bags and walked out the door, arm in arm with Mor, and into a scene straight out of her nightmares.  

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Mor snarled, wrapping an arm protectively around Feyre’s shoulders.  

Feyre hadn’t wanted to accept what he had done, but the truth of it was brutally shoved into her face over and over as she once again had to watch Amarantha kissing Rhys.

Feyre felt as though she were frozen in place, that if she moved even an inch, she would shatter into a million pieces.  At the sound of their footsteps, Amarantha twisted her head around, though her arms remained fastened securely  around his neck.  She smiled maliciously at Feyre, not saying a word.  Not that she needed to, the damage had already been done.  

“Get your hands off of me,” Rhys hissed, pulling out of her grasp.  

“But Rhyyyyysssss, we were having so much fun,” Amarantha pouted, drawing his name out in the most hideous of whines.  

Rhys raised his hands in the air beseechingly and said, “Feyre, please let me explain.”

“Oh, come now Rhysand.  She had to find out about us sooner or later,” Amarantha drawled, a smug smile upon her face.

“There is no us, you fucking lunatic,” he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You need to leave. Now,” Mor said, her voice cold and harsh as she glowered at Amarantha.  

“Rhys, come on.  Let’s get out of here and go somewhere more private,” she said, placing a hand possessively on his shoulder.  

“Don’t ever touch me again,” he spat, nearly growling at Amarantha, as he took a step away from her.    

Amarantha gave him an adder’s smile as she said, “Fine, have it your way.  We could have had so much fun together, though.  If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”  Feyre watched as the redhead sauntered down the hall, her hips swishing suggestively.  

Mor was the first to break the silence that had fallen upon them in the moments since Amarantha’s departure. 

“Rhys, what the hell just happened?” she demanded, an arm still slung across Feyre’s shoulders.  

He ran a hand through his hair roughly and said, “I honestly have no fucking clue.  I was just standing here, waiting for Feyre, when she walked up to me.  Before I could even say anything to her, she started kissing me.”

“And what, you just expect me to believe that?” Feyre asked, her face a deceptively calm mask, hiding the rage and hurt that coursed through her.    

“Feyre darling, I swear to the Cauldron, I…”

Feyre cut him off, pointing a vicious, damning finger at him as she hissed, “I thought you were different.  Obviously, I was wrong.  You are no better than him.  You are just like Tamlin.”  Rhys flinched, as though she had struck him.  

Mor shrewdly assessed her cousin before saying, “Fey, I think Ianthe is behind this.  You said yourself that she threw herself at Rhys at the diner that day.  She’s just stirring up shit because Rhys chose you over her.”

Feyre bit her lip roughly, willing the tears not to fall. The sincerity and devastation written across his face almost shredded what little of her resolve remained.  She focused on Mor, unable to look at him any longer, lest she break completely.    

“Mor, even if that’s true, how am I supposed to trust him ever again?  I’ll never be able to get that out of my head.  I’ll never be able to forget,” Feyre said, roughly brushing the tears from her cheeks.  

“Feyre, you’ve known me a long time.  I may be many things, but cruel is not one of them. I would never purposely do that to anyone, especially you.”  Still refusing to look at him, she clutched Mor’s hand tightly.

“Mor, can you drive me home? Please?”  

Mor studied her for a moment before sighing heavily and saying, “Fine, let’s go.”  Rhys stepped in front of them, effectively cutting off her only means of escape, a look of utter desperation upon his face.  

“I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, and that’s okay, but I will always, always regret it if I don’t tell you how I feel about you now.”  He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves, before continuing, “Feyre Archeron, I am in love with you, and have been since the moment I first saw you.  I know you’re hurt, and you have every right to be, but I hope that one day you will be able to forgive me.  Even if you never talk to me again, I will never stop having feelings for you. I will never stop waiting for you.  I will never stop hoping.”  Tears trickled down his cheeks as he laid himself bare before her.  He waited, hardly daring to breathe, as her eyes seemed pierce right through him, and into the very depths of his soul.  

Tearing her gaze from his, Feyre squared her shoulders and said, “Let’s go Mor.”  She pushed past him, as though he were nothing more than a piece of furniture, and stalked down the hallway.  Not once did she dare to look back.

##  *******

Feyre couldn’t get his face out of her head, the hurt that had been etched on his beautiful features when she had spat out that he was no better than Tamlin.  She loosed a heavy sigh as she glanced at the clock.  She had been tossing and turning for hours, and sleep was still as elusive as ever.  Rhys had said that he loved her, and she had walked away from him.  And maybe, just maybe, she shouldn’t have.  Before she was able to second guess herself, she grabbed her car keys off of the dresser and shuffled out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel
> 
> Find me on tumblr- Illyrianbeauty


	11. Sometimes you’ve gotta fall before you fly

Her hair clung to her skin, dampened by beads of perspiration, and hampered her vision.  Feyre refused to loosen her grip on the branch swaying above her head, desperate though she was to wipe her brow.  In hindsight, this was definitely not one of her better ideas.  Placing one foot in front of the other, she carefully traversed the precariously thin branch.  As she advanced, she kept her eyes focused solely on the window directly in front of her, the final destination of this reckless escapade.  The muscles in her arms screaming in agony from being held above her head for such an extended period time.  Nevertheless, she couldn’t risk stopping now.  As she neared the end of the branch, she sucked in a deep breath, preparing herself for the final step.

The last time Feyre had been climbing in this particular tree, she had been sneaking out in order to attend a party, one of Mor’s more spectacularly disastrous plans.  Thirteen stitches and a mild concussion later, Feyre had sworn she would never climb a tree again.  Though Mor had been furious about thier month long punishment, Feyre had thought it had been well deserved.  Her heart began beating wildly in her chest as she eyed the gap between the end of the branch she was standing on and the window sill.  Why had she thought climbing up the tree would be so much easier than climbing down?  

It was just a few feet…. she could do it.  Closing her eyes, she sucked in a deep breath and let go.  Feyre shifted her weight from one foot to another, holding her arms out at her sides to keep herself steady.  Don’t look down! Don’t look down! Don’t look down!

Before she could lose her nerve, Feyre bent her legs slightly at the knees and launched herself off of the branch.  As her feet slammed onto the sill of the window, a shrill cry erupted out of her mouth.  She swore viciously under her breath, fighting to maintain her balance.  Her hands shot out, grasping the edge of the window. After shuffling her feet slightly, she was able to find a more secure position.  Feyre’s shoulders sagged in relief as she leaned in closer to the house.  She had done it!  

Feyre surveyed the lock on the window as her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.  Shit. It was locked.  Seeing no other option available to her, Feyre rapped her knuckles on the glass lightly.   After becoming so accustomed to the shadowy darkness of the night, she winced as the room before her was suddenly flooded with light.  She sucked in a sharp breath as Rhys’s form came into view.  A realization hit Feyre like a blow to the head- she had spent so much time focusing on finding a way to get into Rhys’s bedroom, that she had failed to consider what she wanted to say to him once she actually got there.

The sheer absurdity of the situation had her snorting as Rhys wrenched open the window.  The expression the he wore was a jumble of uncertainty, surprise, and utter confusion.  An image began to form in the back of her mind.  At first glance, he would appear aloof, cold even.  But if you looked closer, it would show the vulnerability he hid underneath that insufferable smirk.  The painting- she would call it Breathless.    

“Feyre, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Rhys hissed, gripping her forearm with enough force to hold her steady, but not enough to hurt.  

“Oh, just shut up and help me!” she hissed, her nostrils flaring out in annoyance.    

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you’re angry?  Your nose scrunches up in the most adorable way,” he smirked, his arms encircling her waist.

“Prick,” Feyre huffed, hesitantly wrapping her arms around his neck.  Being this close to Rhys, she could smell the citrus scent that was just so distinctly him. Desire began coursing through Feyre’s body, so intensely that it nearly wrecked her.  Biting her bottom lip roughly, she cursed her traitorous body.    

“Hold on tightly,” he instructed, lifting her off of the windowsill.  He set her on the ground with heartbreaking gentleness.  He held onto her just long enough for her to find her footing, and then he took a step back.  Feyre found herself missing the warmth of his body almost immediately.  

“Why are you here, Feyre?  Did you want me to go and get Mor?” Rhys asked, a myriad of emotions flashing across his features, but it was hope that flashed in his eyes that almost broke her resolve.    

Feyre wrapped her arms around herself and said, “No. I came here for you.”  His eyes widened imperceptibly, though he continued to hold her gaze.  Tearing her eyes from his, she continued, “I didn’t like how we left things earlier, so I was hoping that we could talk.”        

Rhys murmured, “Of course.  I would like that very much.”  He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he continued, “Would you like to sit down?  The bed's over there.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and huffed, “Prick.”

Rhys sketched a dramatic bow and said, “After you milady.”

“Rhys, you are such a nerd,” she sighed, though she couldn’t help but to giggle somewhat at his antics.  Rhys chuckled softly, helping to put an end to some of the tension that laid heavily between them.  

“At least you’re not calling me Rhysand anymore,” he said, sticking his hands into the pockets of the grey sweatpants he wore.  Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Feyre wrenched her gaze from his and shuffled towards the bed.  Feeling more than a little awkward, Feyre sat down on the edge of the enormous bed.  The mattress sagged slightly as Rhys sat beside her. She could feel his gaze boring holes into her body.  Feyre’s eyes wandered around his room, taking in all of the details.  For a teenage boy’s room, it was cleaner than she expected.  

“Feyre,” Rhys implored, scooting closer to her so that their elbows almost touched. Her mouth suddenly became very dry. This was a huge mistake.  She shouldn’t have come here tonight.  Gentle fingers grasped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his.

“Feyre, talk to me. Please,” he begged, his eyes burning with an emotion she couldn’t quite name.  Unable to hold them back, tears began trailing down her cheeks.  Rhys gently wiped them away with the pads of his fingers.  Of all the questions she wanted answers to, there was only one that seemed to come to mind.  

“Did you mean it?” she whispered, her lower lip trembling.  

“Mean what?” he asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Did you mean what you said?  About your feelings for me…” Feyre said, unable to voice what she really wanted to ask. How can you love me?

Taking hold of her hands, he said, “Yes, I meant it.  Every single word.  I am utterly and completely in love with you, Feyre.”    

Feyre searched his eyes, looking for any indication that he was being deceitful. She could feel the truth in his words though.  He truly did love her, as impossible as that seemed.  Tears shimmered in his impossibly blue eyes as he held her gaze.

“When I saw you kissing Amarantha…” she said, her voice breaking on the name.

Squeezing her hands gently, Rhys said, “I am so sorry for that, Feyre.  I swear to you…”  

“Let me finish.  Please. I need to say this,” she interrupted, resolve overtaking her features.  He nodded once in agreement, understanding her need to speak her truth.

Feyre swallowed audibly and said, “When I saw you kissing Amarantha, I was so furious with you.  But mostly, I was angry at myself.  After Tamlin… I didn’t want to get hurt like that ever again.  So, I started pushing everyone away.  I distanced myself from everyone, and everything, to protect myself. I was never that close to my sisters, so they didn’t seem to care much.  Mor was the only one who ever pushed back.” Feyre shook her head slightly and snorted at the thought of the blonde hellion who was her best friend.

Her gaze drifted away from his, not wanting to see his expression as she continued, “The night of that party… Tamlin was there.  So, I did what I normally do- I ran away.  But my car wouldn’t start.  I was about to have a full blown panic attack, but you were there for me… you’ve always been there for me.  So, I let you in.  Against my better judgment, I opened myself up to you, and let you in.  And you hurt me, Rhys.”

Feyre sucked in a breath, trying to calm her tumultuous emotions.  She risked a glance in his direction, and was startled by the sight of tears silently streaming down his face.  Feyre reached up and gently cupped his face with her hands.

“You hurt me, because I let down my guard whenever I’m around you.  I let myself fall for, Rhys.”

“Say it,” he implored, his voice heavy with emotion.  He didn’t elaborate. She knew exactly what he meant.  Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she stared into his near violet eyes.  He needed to hear the truth as much as she needed to say it.  

“Rhys, I’m in love with you,” Feyre said, her body trembling faintly.  Rhys leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers.

“Feyre, please believe me when I say that I never meant to hurt you.  I would give anything to be able to take away every bit of the pain you felt.”  

“I know,” she said, her face streaked with tears.

“I’m so sorry.  I never wanted to kiss her.  Ever. I would never have done that to you,” Rhys said, pulling back slightly so she could see the truth of his words.

“I know, Rhys.  It was all Ianthe’s idea, her way of getting back at me.”  His shoulders sagged as he breathed a sigh of relief.

“So… you believe me?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with hopefulness.  

“Part of me always knew the truth, I was just too scared to admit it.  I was terrified of admitting how I feel about you,” she said, biting down on her lower lip.  

Taking her hands in his again, Rhys said, “So, where does this leave us?”  Feyre was momentarily distracted as he began tracing circles on the back of her hand.  

“Can we just… start over?” she asked, feeling rather uncertain.  

“I would like that very much, Feyre darling,” he said, a huge smile spreading across his face.

“So, you’re back to calling me darling?” she drawled, raising a brow at him.

“Feyre darling…” he said, putting emphasis on the last word.

“Rhys,” she huffed.

“Yes, Feyre darling?” he smirked.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He was only too happy to oblige her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel
> 
> Find me on tumblr- illyrianbeauty


	12. A Series of Unfortunate Interruptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning- mentions of past sexual assault

Rhys ran his tongue along her bottom lip, as if in a silent request.  Feyre opened herself to him, deepening the kiss further.  The first brush of his tongue against hers had her moaning into his mouth.  His hands tightened on her hips, his fingers grazing her skin just above the band of her leggings. Goosebumps erupted all over her skin as Rhys traced lazy, idle strokes across the planes of her stomach.  

Feyre broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to take in a shuddering breath.  Rhys’s brows were narrowed in confusion, and concern.  Without dropping her gaze from his, she grasped the hem of her shirt. In one smooth, fluid motion, she pulled it over her head and dropped it onto the floor.  He gulped audibly as she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. Rhys’s gaze devoured her as she slowly slid the bra down her arms.  

Smirking wickedly, Feyre tossed her bra at Rhys, smacking him in the face with the lacey scrap of fabric.  He chuckled, his voice low and rough, the sound skittering across her skin.  

Biting her bottom lip, she crooned, “Your turn.”  He flashed her a wolfish grin as he swiftly pulled off his shirt, and tossed it on the floor next to hers.  She was grinning as his lips met hers again.  Rhys palmed her breast, rolling her nipple deftly between two fingers.  Feyre arched into his touch, pressing herself ever closer to him.  Rhys began trailing kisses across her jaw, down her neck.  Feyre couldn’t hold back the moan as his teeth scraped against her other nipple, already peaked with desire.  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she laid back on the bed, pulling him atop her.  

“Someone’s mighty eager,” Rhys purred, looking down at her with predatory intent.  

“Prick,” she huffed, though she was far too breathless for the word to have any real bite behind it.  Rhys pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, nibbling on her bottom lip lightly. His fingers hooked into the band of her leggings, grazing her sensitive skin with his knuckles.  He pulled back slightly, his expression both a request and a plea. Feyre bit her bottom lip roughly as she raised her hips for him.  Rhys slowly removed her leggings, peppering her skin with searing kisses as he moved down the length of her body.  

He looked up at her from between her legs and smirked, “It’s a good thing I didn’t eat dinner. I’m famished.”  Feyre barked out a laugh.  Never before had sex been like this… fun.  This was fun.  No one had ever made her laugh like Rhys could.  With Tamlin, it had always been uninhibited passion, a clashing of tongues and teeth.  

_His emerald green eyes burned with a rage she had never seen before.  Her arms were pinned to the wall above her, his grip on her wrists brutal.  His face was so close, she could smell the alcohol on his breath._

_“Tamlin, let me go,” she said, fear creeping into her voice._

_“You’re mine,” he snarled, as his lips came crashing down upon hers._  

Feyre jolted upright, roughly pushing Rhys away as she scrambled across the bed.  Eyes wide with panic, she fought down the bile that rose in her throat.  

“Feyre, are you alright? Did I hurt you?” he gasped, concern clouding his features.  

“I’m fine.  It’s fine,” she said, tears trailing down her cheeks.  

“No, you’re certainly not fine.  Talk to me darling.  Please,” he pleaded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.  

I’m sorry,” she whispered, bringing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs tightly.  

“Feyre, you have nothing to apologize for,” Rhys said, tucking a strand of her hair behind an ear.  Rhys brushed the tears away with the tips of his fingers as he said, “Do you want to talk about it?”  No, she absolutely did not want to talk about it, any of it.  But maybe just maybe, she should.  

She fought to keep her voice steady as she said, “You remember when I broke up with Tamlin?”  Feyre felt Rhys go utterly still at her side, but she had to keep going, otherwise she would never be able to begin again.  “I had been wanting to break up with him for a while, actually. He hated when I wanted to spend time with Mor, and not with him.  He had become… possessive.  Controlling even.  I went over to his house that night to end things once and for all.  When I told him that I wanted to break up, he just… lost it. I had never seen him like that, so out of control.  He… pushed me up against the wall.  He tried to… he would have…” her voice wobbled, but Rhys tightened his grip reassuringly, giving her the strength to continue.  

“But I got away.  I fought back… I kneed him in the balls and then ran out.”  

“I knew Tamlin was an asshole, but I never thought that he’d ever…”

“Me either,” she said in a small voice, her body trembling slightly.  

“Thank you for telling me,” Rhys said hoarsely, resting his forehead against hers.    

“I’ve never told anyone about it, what had happened that night,” Feyre confessed, her body relaxing slightly as Rhys ran smooth, gentle strokes down her back.

“Do you want me to take you home now?”

“No.  Could we just lay here for a minute?” Feyre asked, suddenly feeling embarrassed by her outburst.  

“Of course,” he said, pulling her body against his. Feyre rested her head on his shoulder, letting his familiar presence sooth her still jagged nerves.  As they lay there, Rhys continued running tender, calming strokes down her body.  

As she drifted off to sleep, she could have sworn she heard Rhys say, “I love you, Feyre.”

##  *******

A hint of something citrusy that she couldn’t quite put a name to clung to the pillow as Feyre nestled her head into it.  Feeling much more comfortable than she ought to, given the tattered state of her bedding, Feyre fumbled for her cell phone.  The sunlight streaming in through the window taunted her as it danced across her eye lids, scrunched up to ward off the early morning light.  The arm that had been slung across her waist tightened its grip, tugging her ever closer to the male beside her. Rhys. Suddenly, the events of the previous evening swirled through her head.  A sleepy smile spread across her face as she snuggled into warmth of his body.  She had told him everything, and he hadn’t walked away from her, hadn’t blamed her for what had happened.    

“Good morning, Feyre darling,” Rhys murmured, nuzzling into the crook of her neck.  His lips grazed the shell of her ear, sending shivers through her body and straight down to her core.  She felt him harden against her backside.  She went still as death.    

“I could get used to this.  Waking up with you in my arms,” Rhys said, entwining his fingers with hers.  She realized in that moment, just how different Rhys and Tamlin really were.  Rhys would never push her into doing something she wasn’t ready for.  He would always respect her choices, always make sure that she had a choice.  The depth of her feelings for him hit her like a physical blow, leaving her feeling rather giddy.  

It was an unleashing.  

She writhed against the length of him, causing him to hiss at the contact.  Rhys began trailing kissing down the length of her neck, his fingers toying with the band of her leggings.  She arched into him, the ache between the apex of her thighs growing more intense and demanding with each flick of his tongue against her skin.

“Rhys, you’re going to be late.  Get up!” Rhysand’s mother, Adolina, hollered from the other side of the closed door.  A look of utter terror overtook Feyre’s features as the door knob began to twist.  Shit. Flinging the blankets aside, she scrambled out of the bed.  In her haste, her foot became entangled in the sheets, sending her tumbling towards the ground.  Feyre cursed viciously as her backside hit the hardwood floor with a resounding thud. As the door swung open, bringing with it the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps, Feyre slid her slender body beneath the bed.  Cauldron boil and fry her!  How in the hell did she always manage to get herself in situations like this? Scarcely daring to breath, she tilted her head to the side, listening intently to her… was Rhys her boyfriend? Despite the ridiculous predicament she now found herself in, the corners of Feyre’s mouth twitched up slightly at the word.  Pushing the errant thought to the back of her mind, she focused intently on the conversation happening between Rhys and his mom.    

“Good morning to you too, Mother,” he huffed, the bed groaning slightly as he shifted positions, no doubt trying to conceal the evidence of his arousal.  

“Mother?  Since when do you call me mother?” she asked, voice full of amusement.  Though Feyre was unable to see much from her place of concealment, other than the red socks adorned with golden snitches that Adolina wore that is, she was quite certain that Rhys was rolling his eyes at his mother.  Prick.  She pressed her lips together, desperately trying to hold back the giggle that was building in her, threatening to sound at a most inopportune time.

“I’ll be downstairs as soon as I’m finished getting dressed.  So… a little privacy please?” he ground out, heaving his legs over the side of the bed. Feyre sighed in relief at the sight of Adolina’s retreating form.  

Pausing at the threshold, she said, “I expect both you and Feyre to be downstairs for breakfast in five minutes.”  Feyre’s body stilled, scarcely daring to breathe.  Shaking her head roughly, as if to deny what she had heard, Feyre pressed the palm of her hand against her mouth.  There was no way… his mom couldn’t possibly…

Rhys began sputtering, his response no more than a string of unintelligible words.    

“Oh, don’t look so shocked Rhys.  You’ve always been terrible at hiding things from me,” she chuckled, closing the door behind her.  

Pinching the bridge of her nose roughly, Feyre groaned as mortification coursed through her body.  How had she known?  There was no way that anyone had seen her coming in last night.  It wasn’t as if she had announced her arrival…. Shit.  Shit. Shit.  The car.  Cauldron, why hadn’t she thought to park down the street instead of at the end of the driveway?  

“Feyre?” Rhys asked, his face appearing mere inches from her own.  He smirked as he continued, “You might as well come out now.”

“I’m just going to stay under here and die of embarrassment,” she moaned, covering her face with her hands.  His arms snaked around her middle, gently pulling her out from under the bed.

“Well, at least one good thing has come out of us getting caught,” Rhys said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.  

Feyre huffed, “And what good, may I ask, has come out of this?” She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.  

“Well, at least you won’t have to climb out of the window anymore,” Rhys said, his shoulders shaking with unrestrained laughter.  

“Prick,” she huffed, though without much heat behind it. Resting her head against the bed, she sighed, “Your mom must hate me now.”  Rhys tucked an errant strand of golden-brown hair behind her ear, the tip of his fingers grazing her cheek lightly.

“Well, this isn’t exactly how I wanted her to find out about us, but don’t worry.  She loves you,” Rhys said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.  

“So, we’re an ‘us’ then?” she asked, biting down on her bottom lip.  She resisted the urge to look away, to hide from what she might see in his expression.  

“Do you want there to be an us?” he asked, uncertainty and hurt flashing in his eyes.  Without breaking eye contact, Feyre closed the distance between them.  Rhys’s eyes watched her warily as she moved.  His hands rested on her hips as she straddled him.

“Yes, I want there to be an us,” she said, tracing the edge of his jaw with a finger.  Her heart was beating wildly in her chest as she asked “Is that what you want?”

Silver lined his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers, “Yes, Feyre darling.  I would like that very much.”  Her fingers found their way into his hair, tugging lightly on the ends.  While their previous kisses had been hungry, this kiss was different.  It was sweet, tender, and full of unspoken promises.  It was enough to almost undo her.  She pressed herself against him, deepening the kiss.  

“Rhys, why does your mom think that Feyre…” Mor halted in the center of the room, her eyes growing wide as she took in the sight before her.

“What is it with the females in this family and barging in my room without knocking?” Rhys groaned, leaning his forehead against Feyre’s shoulder.

“Feyre Archeron!” Mor gasped, a wicked, delighted grin spreading across her features.  

Cringing slightly, Feyre said, “Any chance you’ll ignore everything that you just witnessed?”

“Not a chance in hell! Now get your ass over here and spill,” Mor demanded, raising an eyebrow expectantly.  Gods, this was going to be a long morning.  Resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at her friend, Feyre removed herself from Rhys’s lap, though not before placing a tender kiss on his cheek. Crossing her arms over her chest, Feyre shuffled across the room.

“Please tell me you used protection,” Mor asked, her eyes dancing with amusement.  

“Mor!” Feyre squawked, her cheeks turning a deep crimson color.  Mor, who was unabashedly wiggling her eyebrows, threw an arm around Feyre’s shoulders.

“Welcome to the family, Fey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel 
> 
> Find me on tumblr- illyrianbeauty


	13. Declarations

The bedroom door had scarcely closed behind them when Mor whirled around, an impish grin spreading across her face.   **  
**

“Spill it,” she demanded, resting her hands on her hips.  

Feyre crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, “I don’t kiss and tell, Morrigan.”

“From what I saw, there was a lot more than just kissing going on,” Mor said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.  

“Mor,” Feyre squawked indignantly, her face twisting into a scowl.

“Oh, you are not getting out of this one Archeron, so you may as well start talking,” Mor simpered, giving her a saccharine smile.

“I hate you,” Feyre groaned, running a hand through her unruly hair.  She grimaced, wholly unprepared to share the details of what had recently developed between her and Rhys.  What she felt for him went beyond simple attraction.  She didn’t know if it was possible to find the words to explain how she felt.  While she had been wrapped up in his arms, his legs entangled with hers, she had felt at peace… and loved.  It was an emotion she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a very long time.      

“Love you too bitch,” Mor said, nudging her lightly with an elbow.  Feyre rolled her eyes dramatically, though the corners of her mouth twitched up. Mor crossed the room and began rifling through the contents of her massive closet.      

Feyre snorted, “By the Cauldron, you change clothes more often than anyone else I know.”

Mor clucked her tongue as she said, “The clothes are for you, my disheveled friend.  Unless, that is, you want everyone at school to know that you hooked up with my cousin last night.

Her brows narrowed severely as she snapped, “Rhys and I did not hook up last night.  We just kissed, not that it’s any of your business Morrigan.  And besides, I thought you were happy for us.”  She sent a withering glare in Mor’s direction as she wrapped her arms around her chest.  Mor’s hands stilled, fingers still clutching a blue shirt hanging in the closet, one of Feyre’s favorites.  Her whole body seemed to tense as she gave Feyre a considering look over a shoulder.  

“I am happy for you, Fey.  It’s just that… Rhys is absolutely and utterly in love with you.  I don’t want to see him getting hurt,” she said, her brows furrowing slightly.  Feyre shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, despite the heat crept along her neck and cheeks.

“Well, he’s not the only one, you know,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to the ground.  The breath was nearly knocked out of her as Mor enveloped her in a bone crushing hug.  

“Have you told him how you feel?” Mor asked, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes.  

“I might have mentioned it once or twice,” Feyre drawled, her eyes twinkling with amusement.  

Mor tossed the shirt at her and huffed, “It’s about damn time.”

##  *******

Feyre shuffled into the kitchen, her eyes flickering nervously around the room.  She tugged at the hem of her shirt, grateful that Mor had the foresight to lend her some clothes. Rhys, who was already seated at the table, smiled broadly as he caught sight of her.  Feyre tucked a loose strand of hair behind an ear, a grin spreading across her face.  Her eyes, as if of their own volition, snaked down his body.  He was wearing a form fitting black shirt, accentuating his muscular build. His short black hair was tousled, no doubt from when she had run her hands through it as they had kissed earlier. She could feel the blush creeping up her neck, turning her cheeks a deep shade of scarlet.  As though he knew exactly what she was thinking, Rhys’s grin turned feline.

“See something you like, darling?” he purred, his eyes burned with an intensity that had her clenching her thighs together.

“Ugh, no heated looks at the breakfast table, please.  You two love birds take that lovie-dovie shit elsewhere,” Mor groaned, collapsing into the chair across from Rhys.  Ignoring Mor’s quip, Feyre cocked her head to the side, the corners of her lips twitching up.

“Actually, I do see something I rather like,” Feyre said, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers.  Rhys’s eyes darkened as his gaze raked over her body. She strolled over to the table and settled herself in the chair beside Rhys, angling her body towards him.  She flashed him a wicked grin before twisting around.    

“Mor, you’ll have to tell me where you got that shirt.  Is it new?” she asked, biting down roughly on her lower lip to stop the giggle that threatened to escape.  Mor choked out a laugh, nearly spitting out the juice that she had been drinking.  

“I think you’ve met your match Rhysie,” Mor cackled, a look of wicked delight overtaking her features.  Cauldron boil and fry her, Feyre knew that look.  It was the one Mor always got when she was busy scheming, and nothing good ever came of it.  Rhys scowled, though the corners of his mouth twitched up, and gave Mor a vulgar gesture.  Unfortunately for him, his mother Adolina chose that exact moment to enter the kitchen.  

“Rhysand,” she chided, smacking him soundly upside the head as she passed.  

“Mom!” he yelped, gingerly rubbing the back of his head.  Feyre covered her mouth with a hand, snickering loudly.  

“Good morning, Feyre,” Adolina said, the smile on her face not quite reaching all the way to her eyes.  

“Good morning,” Feyre muttered, wringing her hands together underneath the table.  Rhys’s hand gently grasped hers, drawing soothing circles along her knuckles.  Feyre averted her gaze, unable to stand the disappointment that flashed in Adolina’s eyes. Rhys pressed a gentle kiss onto her hair, soothing her jagged nerves slightly.  It was amazing how he always seemed to know what to do to make her feel more at ease.    

Placing a casserole dish on the table, Adolina said sharply, “Eat quickly, otherwise you’ll be late for school.” Mor and Rhys both attacked the food, taking 3 pieces each.  Not feeling quite as hungry as she had been earlier, Feyre picked at the egg casserole with her fork.  Her stomach roiled.  Feyre wished that Adolina would just yell at them.  The silence unnerved her and she found herself unable to eat a single bite.  After pouring herself a cup of coffee, Adolina joined them at the table.  Adolina sipped her coffee, gazing at her from above the rim of her cup.  Feyre resisted the urge to fidget under her intense scrutiny.  She sat rigidly, the knuckles of her hand turning white as she grasped the fork tightly.

“So, if the two of you are going to be dating, there are going to have to be some ground rules,” Adolina said, her eyes darting between Feyre and Rhys.

Rolling his eyes, Rhys huffed, “Mom, can we just skip the lecture?”

“I’m so sorry about last night.  I hadn’t planned on staying over.  We were just talking and… I fell asleep.  I promise you that it won’t ever happen again,” Feyre said hurriedly, wishing the ground would wholly swallow her up then and there. She straightened her spine, refusing to break eye contact with Rhys’s mother.  

Her expression softened as she said, “You know Feyre, I have always hoped that you and Rhys would get married someday.  I can’t imagine a better person for him to be with.”

Solver lined her eyes as Feyre quietly asked, “So… you’re not mad?”  Adolina reached across the table, placing her hand atop Feyre’s.  

“Of course not, honey. You’ve always been a part of this family.  Now it’s official,” she said, a warm smile spreading across her face.  

“That’s exactly what I said,” Mor said, winking playfully at Feyre.  Relief coursed through her body, her shoulders sagging as though a heavy weight had been lifted.  

Pinching the bridge of his nose roughly, Rhys groaned, “Why does my family insist on always embarrassing me?”  

Adolina raised a brow at him as she drawled, “Just because I like Feyre better than you does not give you permission to act like a brat.”

Rhys feigned a look of shock as he said, “Betrayed by my own mother…”

Feyre snickered, “I’ve forgotten how fun your family meals are in this house. I need to come more often.”

“Well, you’ll be able to join us again for dinner tonight.  Before we get started,” Rhys said, rubbing his hands together as he flashed her a grin.  

Feyre’s brows furrowed as she asked, “Get started on what?”

“Fulfilling my end of our little bargain, Feyre darling.  We’re working on your reading assignment tonight,” he said, resting his elbows on the table as he leaned closer towards her.  Cursing under her breath, she sent him a withering glare.

“I changed my mind,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest roughly.  

“Oh no, darling.  No backing out now,” he said, the pointed look he gave her clearly stating that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.  Shit.  

“Just no more sleepovers you two,” Adolina said, narrowing her brows deeply.  

Feyre covered her face with her hands and moaned, “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Hmmmmm…. Let me think,” Mor said, tapping her chin thoughtfully.  She smirked, “Nope.  Not a chance in hell.”

##  *******

Practice had been an absolute disaster.  Feyre couldn’t remember the last time she had swam so poorly.  Ianthe had passed her at least twice, sending a spiteful grin in her direction each time, though her mind was far too preoccupied to care.  She knew that Rhys wouldn’t make fun of her reading deficiencies, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to see how truly stupid she was.  Who was she kidding… there wasn’t a chance in hell she could read those books.  Swimming was the only thing she really had going for her.  And even that depended on her passing that Cauldron damned class.  Her lips pulled back into a snarl as she grasped the ledge, pulling herself out of the pool.  

“Bring it in,” Coach hollered, motioning them over with a sweep of his hand.  Oh gods… now what?  As the team gathered around Coach Tarquin, Feyre shared a confused look with Mor.  

“Ladies, State is less than a month away.  For some of you seniors, this will be your last competition… let’s make it count.”  He crossed his arms over his chest before continuing, “I’m expecting you to be giving it your all.  Each and every practice.  Now, go home and get some rest.  You’re going to need it- starting tomorrow, we are going to be upping the intensity of each practice.  Dismissed” 

Suppressing the groan that threatened to escape, Feyre began shuffling towards the locker room.  Ianthe fell into step beside her.  

“Archeron, you were even more pathetic today than usual.  Breaking up with Rhysand must be getting to you more than I thought,” Ianthe said, pursing her lips with mock sympathy.  Feyre gritted her teeth, fighting to keep her temper in check.  

Shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, she said, “What can I say? Kicking your ass every single day gets boring.”  Ianthe’s eyes had a dangerous glint to them as they entered the locker room.  

“Amarantha kept texting me last night.  She couldn’t stop going on and on about the date she had with Rhysand yesterday.  Quite annoying actually,” Ianthe said, giving her an adder’s smile.  Feyre rolled her eyes as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder.  

“Good night, Ianthe,” Feyre said sweetly, sorely tempted to smack that malicious grin right off of her face.    

Ianthe drawled, “Oh, how insensitive of me.”  She picked at her perfectly manicured nails before continuing, “I’m sure you don’t want the constant reminders of how Amarantha and Rhysand kissed right in front of you.”  Furry unlike any she had felt before coursed through her body.  How dare she pretend that Rhys had actually wanted to kiss that bitch! 

“You are so full of shit, Ianthe.  Stop spreading rumors about about Rhys,” she said quietly, but not weakly.  She took a single step in Ianthe’s direction as she said, “I happen to know for a fact that Rhys was not with Amarantha last night.”

Ianthe placed her hands on her hip and scoffed, “And how could you possibly know that?”  

“Because I was with him.  All night long,” she said, a devious grin creeping across her face.  Pushing past Ianthe, she stalked towards the door.  

“You’ll get what’s coming to you, whore,” Ianthe hissed.  Feyre dropped her bag to the ground, red clouding her vision.  Damning the consequences, Feyre drew back her arm, her fingers clenched into a tight fist.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism. Hope you enjoyed it!  
> ~ Rachel
> 
> Find me on Tumblr- illyrianbeauty


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